


Top of the Class

by TheseusInTheMaze, zaffrin



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Dubious Consent, Emotional Abuse, F/M, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-12 05:55:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 14
Words: 58,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28755492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheseusInTheMaze/pseuds/TheseusInTheMaze, https://archiveofourown.org/users/zaffrin/pseuds/zaffrin
Summary: “Jamie? Can I see you after class, please?”Jamie Smith’s head snaps up from where she’s been shoving books in her bag to see her teacher, Mr O, staring directly at her from across the science lab as her classmates pack away.
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan)
Comments: 220
Kudos: 96





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Another fic co-written by zaffrin and TheseusInTheMaze! Please heed the warnings this fic is an AU in which the Doctor is an underage student (16) and the Master is her teacher. Avoid if not your thing!!

“Jamie? Can I see you after class, please?”

Jamie Smith’s head snaps up from where she’s been shoving books in her bag to see her teacher, Mr O, staring directly at her from across the science lab as her classmates pack away.

“Um… sure.” Her heart beats quicker as she finishes packing her things then heads to the front of the class to stand awkwardly by his desk. Her hands are suddenly sweating and she wrings them nervously as Mr O busies himself with stuffing his own books in a shoulder bag while the rest of the class file noisily out. 

The door closes behind the last student, and they are plunged into sudden quiet. Jamie clears her throat. 

“Sir, I’m sorry about the potassium,” she quickly begins. “But it was only a _tiny_ explosion and everything was under control - I’d just read about mixing those chemicals and I _really_ wanted to see what happened and - I cleaned everything up afterwards! I swear I didn’t mean for the rest of it to spill, I can come by after school and help tidy the lab or - or anything to make up for it -”

Her nervous rambles cut off when Mr O raises a finger, and Jamie stares at him, chewing the inside of her cheek. 

He looks at her for a moment, before he gestures to the chair across from his desk, and sits down himself behind it. “Have a seat.”

Heart in her mouth, Jamie does so. 

Another moment passes, and she squirms uncomfortably in her chair under his scrutinisation as he takes off his black rimmed glasses to fiddle with them. Jamie had noticed before how handsome her science teacher and tutor was - she thinks all the girls at the school had. But up close, he was even moreso, and she feels her mouth go dry as he sticks the end of his glasses in his mouth, chewing on them absently, like Jamie is a puzzle he is trying very hard to figure out. She’s just about to start babbling nervously again, when he finally speaks. 

“I’m moving you up a year,” is what he says, and it’s not what Jamie had expected at all. 

“I’m - I’m sorry?”

“In science at least. I’ll need to speak to the rest of your teachers if it’s something you’re interested in doing permanently - you would still need to sit your exams. But the sixth form science class runs on thursdays during your free period, and monday during PE. I’m sure I can arrange to have you excused from that, since you’re not taking it for GCSE.”

“I’m… A-level? You think - you think I could do A-level science?”

Mr O smiles at her, and leans back in his chair, arms folded. “I know you could. You’re grossly under-challenged in this class, anyone can see that. I’m confident you’d be able to handle the material at a higher level and still be ready for your exams later this year. If you’re prepared to work hard, that is. You’re a very clever girl, Jamie.”

Jamie can only stare. She doesn’t think she’s ever had a teacher call her clever before. Usually they just berated her for not paying attention, or writing formulas when she was supposed to be learning history or forgetting completely about the essay that was due because she’d been up until four in the morning working on a watch that could double as a thermometer. 

(It was a great watch.)

She realises Mr O is waiting for an answer, and she swallows quickly. “You think?”

“Oh yes. Anyone who took the time to notice could tell that you’re bored. You don’t pay attention in class, rarely turn work in on time yet you’ve been a straight A student since the first grade. It’s remarkable really.”

Her cheeks feel hot, and she looks down, fiddling with her hands in her lap as she tries not to grin like an idiot at the praise. 

“Thank you sir,” she replies quietly. She peeks up at him again through her short blonde hair, shoving it behind her ear. “And I am sorry about the potassium. I didn’t expect the reaction to be so… messy.”

He chuckles, and shoves a hand through his own mop of hair. Her eyes track the movement as he pushes it back from his face. She’s always admired his hair, the way it sort of… flopped. Sometimes it got in his eyes when he was teaching and he’d flick it back. 

“It was the chloride,” he says. “Ten mls would have done it, not one hundred.” Jamie’s eyes light up and she snaps her fingers. 

“ _That’s_ where I went wrong! Must have put the decimal in the wrong place.”

“Yes,” he agrees easily, then clears his throat. “Not that I’m approving, of course - you were only meant to be mixing a little with saline to study the chemical changes. The potassium was off-limits in the stock cupboard.”

Jamie looks down again, biting her lip. “I know, I know. I’m sorry.”

“But… maybe if you came back tomorrow, say around four after school? There might be some left over if you wanted to try again. Not that I’m permitting that, of course,” he hastily adds, but when she looks up he’s smirking at her, and - did he _wink_?

“Thank you!” She says quickly. _Did my teacher really just wink at me?_ Jamie tries to ignore the odd warm sensation inside her, and the way her stomach was fluttering with something that wasn’t just nerves. 

“So,” he says. “You’re good with moving classes?”

Jamie sits up straighter, nodding hastily. “Yes! I’d love to. If - if you’re sure I could manage the work…”

“I’m sure,” he says with such easy confidence there’s that buzz inside her again - almost like a thrill this time. “I take both those classes, and I’m your tutor anyway so I’ll be more than happy to help if you need it. I’m sure we could find a time once a week to sit down together, if you’d like.”

“Yes, okay,” Jamie nods quickly. 

“And I could always give you my number, in case you need anything and can’t find the time to speak to me in class… in fact,” he says as Jamie watches with baited breath as he rummages in a drawer and pulls out a notepad. “Why don’t I give it to you now anyway? You can take the weekend to think about it properly and contact me if you need to talk it over or you have any queries.”

“Oh - um - yes, yeah that would be helpful… thanks,” she says as he jots down his number and tears the piece of paper off to hand it to her. Their fingers brush as he does so, and Jamie feels a shiver of heat go up her arm.

“Send me a text later, so I know who you are,” he says smoothly, and Jamie nods again. 

“I will.”

“Enjoy the rest of your day then,” he says, and he’s getting up, grabbing his coat from the back of the chair and throwing it on.

Jamie gets to her feet, shouldering her bag, the piece of paper carefully folded in her hand. “You too Mr O,” she replies. “Are you leaving already?”

“Yep. I’ve a free period Friday afternoons, so I like to get ahead on some marking at home.”

“Lucky,” she grumbles a bit as they walk to the door. “I’ve got double French this afternoon.”

He chuckles. “Not a fan?”

“The language is fine,” she shrugs. “The classes are just so… all that ‘hello my name’s Jamie, I would like to buy two hats for my friend, and I have a dog named Charlie.”

Mr O throws back his head and laughs - properly laughs, and Jamie finds herself grinning with him, delighted that she’s amused him. “Well. French can actually be very sexy, if you’re learning the right things. The language of love, and all that.”

“Oh, yeah,” Jamie nods, her face suddenly very hot. “I’ve heard that.” She tries to sound casual and not let on that he’s flustered her a bit, both of them stopped in front of the classroom door now. “Learning all the ways to ask for directions to the nearest library isn’t very sexy, unfortunately.”

Mr O gives another one of those deep chuckles that seem to reverberate right through her. “Well - I suppose that depends on what one was planning on _doing_ in the library…”

Her eyes widen, and her face is _very_ hot now, and she’s certain her blush must be visible. She resists the urge to press her palms to her cheeks, fiddling with her hair as she gives a nervous laugh. He couldn’t be alluding to… what she thought he was - could he!? Surely that was just her overactive brain - and her stupid… whatever it was part of her that was painfully attracted to him. 

“Um, yeah, I guess so,” she says. His eyes follow her hand as she pushes her hair behind her ear, and he tilts his head.

“That’s nice,” he comments, pointing, and she realises he’s referring to the ear cuff she’s wearing. She hastily pulls her hair back down over it.

“Oh - thanks - sorry; I know it’s not regulation, forgot I had it in until I got here this morning…”

Mr O winks at her. It’s _definitely_ a wink this time, and there’s that flutter in her tummy again. “I won’t tell,” he says. “It suits you.”

“Th - thanks,” Jamie manages.

There’s a suspended second where they seem to lock eyes and Jamie is almost certain she sees a glimmer of… _something_ (interest?) in their dark depths, before he gives her a bright smile and reaches across her to pull open the door.

“Well, enjoy your weekend Jamie.” He says, gesturing her out of the door ahead of him.

“Thanks,” she says again, hurrying through. “You too Mr O.”

“I’m sure I will,” he replies. “Don’t forget to send that text now, just so I know who you are if you need anything.”

“I will… bye!” 

Her teacher bids her goodbye, and turns to head the other way to Jamie as she hastens to her next class. Her head feels a bit light and her legs are strangely weak, but is a pleasant sort of feeling. She’s still thrilled about the opportunity Mr O had offered her - that’s probably all it was. 

The piece of paper with his number on is warm in her hand, and Jamie darts into a loo cubicle and sits down to key it into her phone, saving it under his name and firing off a quick “hi it’s Jamie Smith!”, feeling a bit like she is doing something she shouldn’t be. 

It excites her.

-*-

Jamie is reading a book in the bath when her phone buzzes. 

She set the thing on the little bit of counter by the sink, and she plans to ignore it, but then it buzzes again, and she remembers that Ace is supposed to send her the chemistry notes, and Ace is one of those weirdos who always wants to be texted right away. So of course, she has to put the book down (nearly drops it in the bath, too), sends water cascading over the edge, and then she grabs her phone, squinting at it. 

It’s from her teacher. Not Ace.

_Did you see that documentary about the domestication of dogs that was playing on BBC? Seems like something you’d be interested in._

Oh. Mr. O. 

Since they traded numbers, it’s been surprisingly dull. They’re not technically supposed to talk like this, but mostly it’s just book recommendations, or things she should watch on telly. Sometimes he tells her about what he’s cooking, or she sends him pictures of her dog. 

_My big brother has the telly tonight_ , she texts back. _Some FIFA thing or something. I’ll look it up online though, definitely!_

_Probably better not to be watching telly so late_ , he texts back, a few minutes later. She’s got the phone nearby, and she doesn’t jump when it buzzes, this time. 

_It isn’t that late_ , she responds, wrinkling her nose. _Tomorrow is Saturday, anyway. I can stay up as late as I want!_

_When I was your age, I liked to stay up at all hours too,_ comes his nearly immediate response. He must be bored, if he’s texting back so fast. What’s a man as good looking as him doing on a Friday night texting a student, anyway? _I always regretted it._

_I never regret anything_ , she texts back, and then she winces. _I regret some things_ , she adds quickly, her thumbs moving very fast. _But not many._

_Sounds like a nice way to go about things_ , Mr. O sends back. _So what are you up to, if not ingesting some educational content?_

She giggles - "ingesting" makes her think of someone sitting down to eat a book with a knife and fork. _Having a bath and reading a book,_ she types. 

_Aren't you a little old for a bath?_

She stares at the phone, frowning. 

Her phone buzzes again. _Do you have ducks? I will admit that I love rubber ducks. I've got a proper collection of them!_

On impulse, she takes a picture of her legs in the bath, surrounded by bubbles, the water light purple. _A proper grown up bath,_ she tells him. 

_That does look like a proper bath_ , he responds. _Your legs look much nicer than mine do, though._

Her phone buzzes again, and it's… a picture. A picture of his legs, stretched out in front of him on his bed. His sheets are dark blue, and he's wearing… purple boxers shorts? His legs are bare, and they look miles long. He isn't wearing any socks either, and his feet look enormous. 

_You know what they say about big feet_ , whispers some part of her mind, and she flushes and stares down at her own lap again. 

_Your legs look nice enough_ , she says diplomatically. They do look nice, although she feels odd noticing. Are legs a thing that people usually notice? She's heard men talk about women's legs, but women talking about men's legs seems... different. 

_Nice enough. Gee, thanks._ She can almost hear the dry sarcasm in his voice as she reads the message, and she flushes. 

_They're very nice_ , she says. _Best men's legs I've seen._

_D'you see a lot of men's legs, then?_

It's such an innocuous question, and yet her whole face is heating up. Something about the conversation feels... fraught, in ways that she can't put her finger on. She bites her lip, curling her toes against each other, and carefully types out her response.

_They're nicer than my brother's. And my dad's._ That's a good answer, right?

_Better than your dad's legs. I'll take what I can get,_ comes the response.

Jamie, somewhat lost as to what to say next, puts the phone on the counter again, then sinks down into the water. Her nipples are hard - from the cold air, or from the tension rising in her belly? She presses her thighs together, squeezing, and then she sits up, drains the tub, and rinses herself off. It isn't until she's dried off and brushed her hair that she checks her phone again, to see another message from Mr. O. 

_They're very excited for their crickets_ , reads the caption to a very short video of multicolored fish swimming about. 

Jamie recognizes her teacher's fish tank - he's showed the class pictures of it before. It's even the background of his laptop, when he has to show them slideshows. She can see a faint reflection of... is that his chest? She can see what looks like his... is that his _nipple_? He's got dark hair all over his chest, and she wonders what it would feel like to rub her cheek against it. 

_Can fish get crickets in the wild?_ Is that weird thing to ask him? Or is she thinking too hard about it? She's squeezing her thighs together and biting her lip, her toes curling against each other as she stares at the screen. 

_Some can. These guys not typically, since they're ocean fish._

That seems to be the end of the conversation, and Jamie sighs, not sure if she's disappointed or relieved. She plugs her phone in, and stretches out in bed. She's going to have a lazy day tomorrow, maybe watch a movie, get some reading in. The winter holidays are coming up, and she's looking forward to the chance to relax a bit. 

-*-

Jamie isn't thinking when she sends the next picture. It's just that she can see fox prints in the snow by the bins, and she's so excited to show _everyone_ that she texts all of her recent contacts. Ace and Yaz and Ryan and Sarah Jane and Tegan and... Mr. O. 

_Why are you wearing flip flops in the snow?_

She blushes again, and she's not sure why. Does he think that she's just sending him pictures of her body for... fun? What's he going to think of her?

_Weren't going for a proper walk_ , she responds, once she's back in her room, wrapped in a blanket with a cup of tea on the bedside table. _Just taking the trash out._

_Still_ , he responds. _Wouldn't want you to lose any of those cute little toes to frostbite._

She doesn't know how to respond to the suggestion that her toes are "cute," although it does make her cheeks hot. She pulls the blanket a little further up herself, and sinks into the pillows. _I promise not to risk frostbite,_ she tells him.

_Horrible way to die_ , Mr. O says. _Although technically you don't die from the frostbite, you just die from the gangrene when it rots off._

She sends him a selfie of herself making a disgusted face, and then she panics, because was that inappropriate? 

She gets one back from him, one eyebrow raised, and it sends a tingle through her, to pulse between her legs. She bites her lip, squeezing her thighs together under the blanket, and her phone buzzes again. 

It's a picture of Mr. O's legs again, but this time they're on a couch. He seems to be wearing shorts, and his feet are propped up on a coffee table. He's got a book open in his lap, and she squints, trying to see what it is. _I'm not doing much better_ , his text reads, _but at least I'm staying indoors._

_I'm indoors now,_ she counters. _Even put on socks!_

_Socks indoors, but not outdoors_ , he texts. _I don't believe you._

_No, look!_ She takes a picture of her feet under the blanket, with her thick socks and her cuddly joggers. 

_Do you normally have cold feet?_ It seems like a polite question, but something about it makes her squirm. 

_Yeah. Most of me runs cold. I'm not usually bothered, but it can be a bother in winter._ She's starting to get warm, now. Almost too warm. 

_Jealous,_ he texts her. _I’m always too warm. It’s why I end up wandering around basketball shorts in the middle of winter. I’m usually sweltering at school - they keep the whole place too warm, don’t they?_

She smiles in spite of herself. There are so many jokes at school about Mr. O and his handkerchiefs, his jackets hung over the backs of chairs. And okay, maybe she’s admired the way his forearms look when he rolls his sleeves up, or the glow his skin acquires when it gets warmer but… nobody has to know about

_If we could get away with wearing whatever we wanted at school, I’d be in a swimming costume all the time,_ adds. _No shirt, flip flops… it has the bonus of letting me pretend that I’m at the beach._

_I love the beach_ , she sends him. _We went to Spain last summer, I wanna go back again._

_I’ve never been to Spain. Did you take any good pictures?_

She sends him a few pictures of the beach, of the sand, of the friendly cats. She pauses, then sends a picture of herself in a bikini. It isn’t a particularly alluring one - the thing is bright orange, and covers most of her. But there’s still that little thrill of anticipation, because that’s more of her than he’s ever seen. 

_How much of that seafood pile is yours?_ He asks, completely avoiding the bikini picture, and she isn’t sure if she’s relieved or devastated. What is she even doing? 

She sinks into her blanket nest, and she tries not to think about the desperate pulse between her legs. Maybe she’ll masturbate later, watch something on her phone while rubbing clit desperately. And maybe the video she watches will have dark haired men and girls in tartan skirts, well… 

Nobody has to know but her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots more written already so please let us know if you wanna read more! :) <3


	2. Chapter 2

“Jamie,” It’s Mr O, striding into the empty lab, and her heart quickens a bit as she looks up and sees him. “Thought I might find you here.”

“Hi Mr O - sorry, do you need to lock up? I’m almost done I swear,” she says as she pushes her goggles up on top of her head. “Let me just take these results down…”

“No, it’s okay,” he smiles at her as he plops his bag on his desk at the front. “Take your time. I was going to stay and get through some marking so,” he waves a hand. “Carry on.”

Jamie looks up from her notes with a bright grin. “Yeah?”

“Of course. Are you working on what we covered in class this week?” He asks casually as he takes out some papers. 

“Umm…” Jamie fiddles with her pen, peering over at him guiltily. “No? But I will, I swear! I just, um…” She trails off as Mr O wanders over to her, moving right up beside her to peer at the things she has laid out on the table. “Hm,” he comments, and motions to her notes. “Can I see?”

Jamie fumbles a bit, picking them up and handing them to him. “Of course sir.”

He scrutinises them for a moment, and Jamie bites her lip as she fidgets a bit where she stands. Then he smiles, plopping the notepad back down and sticking his glasses up on his head. “You’re too clever for this school, you know.”

Jamie’s heart speeds up a bit. “I - I am?”

“Yes,” he nods. “You could sit your A-levels this year - and pass them with straight As, I’d wager.”

Her stomach feels fluttery, and she’s suddenly very warm. “I - but I haven’t even done my GCSEs yet…”

“I know.” Mr O frowns, like he’s annoyed. “You should have been moved up a long time ago - I’m sorry the school’s failed you, Jamie. I’m going to do my best to make sure you get what you need while you’re still here now.”

“I’m -” She looks down, a flush on her cheeks. “Thank you sir…”

“You’re not used to getting compliments, are you Jamie?” He says, and when she glances at him, he’s watching her intently and there’s a smile playing about his lips. She clears her throat, fumbling with her things, going back to her test tubes for something to busy her hands while she speaks. 

“Um, I guess not? Not - not from teachers anyway. I mean - I think I’m a bit of a nuisance to most of them, to be honest.”

She lifts a dropper to her test tube, but suddenly there’s a hand covering hers, and she’s forced to pause, looking up into his eyes again with her own wide ones. 

“You’re not a nuisance to me,” he tells her honestly. 

“Good - good to know,” Jamie replies, and her throat is dry. 

Mr O gently takes the dropper from her, squeezing a tiny drop of the chemical into her mixture and popping it back in the jar. “You don’t want to use too much of that. It can throw the whole balance off.”

“Um… yeah - course. Thanks. Thanks, uh…”

“I’m not criticising Jamie,” he says, then he’s pulling up a stool and sitting at the bench right next to where she stands. “I think you’re brilliant - you know that, right?”

“Um - thank you?”

“And I want to help you… reach your full potential.”

Jamie can’t be certain but she’s sure Mr O’s gaze had flickered down over her whole body as he’d said that. She shivers. His words are potent, and Jamie’s stomach is fluttering furiously. Something feels charged between them, and it’s making her feel on edge and giddy at the same time. 

She bites her lip, fiddling with a glass vial. “I… appreciate that sir. A lot.”

“Yeah?”

She nods. “It’s meant a lot to me - being moved up to your upper class. The new work, learning all that stuff… I love it.”

He grins at her. “And you’re thriving just like I knew you would. Do you know, your assignment from last week was the highest grade in the class?”

Her cheeks flush and her stomach flips. “No - really?”

“Yes. Imagine that - you, not even being in this class for a fortnight, a year below the other pupils… that’s what I mean when I tell you you’re brilliant. And I don’t think you even realise it.”

“I’m nothing special,” she mumbles. “I just - get really focused on stuff… it’s not always good. Means I have trouble concentrating on other things sometimes…”

Mr O is watching her intently with a small smirk on his lips that Jamie doesn’t fully understand. “Maybe you just need the right kind of stimulation.”

Jamie fumbles, and knocks over a vial. She curses, grabbing for a paper towel, stammering out apologies as a small amount of liquid chemicals spills out over the bench and Mr O jumps to his feet before it can drip down into his lap. 

“Shit, I’m sorry - and I’m sorry for swearing - crap…” Her face is burning as she hastily bundles up a handful of towels and goes to mop the spill. 

“Ah, ah!” Mr O grabs her hand before she can touch it. “You don’t want that stuff on your skin.”

“Oh - yeah of course,” she knew that, stupid! She goes to grab some gloves from the side but finds her hand still caught in her teacher’s. “M - Mr O?”

“Leave it.”

“I - what?” 

His hand is very warm and very large around her own, and suddenly Jamie’s palms are sweating. She swears he moves a few inches closer to her, and she can only watch with a pounding heart, as he lifts a hand and very gently touches it to her hair, brushing a strand from her face as those dark eyes of his bore into her own. 

“It can wait. I wasn’t done telling you how brilliant you are,” he says, and his voice is suddenly low - a lot lower than she’s heard it before. 

“I - you - you mentioned that…”

“Did I mention how I think you’re the brightest one in the whole school? And you’re gorgeous too, on top of all that.” He’s tucked her hair behind her ear, and his hand is still there, resting on her shoulder now, fingers lightly cupping her neck and thumb tracing over her jawline. She swallows hard, heart nearly beating out of her chest. Had she really just heard that correctly? He… thought she was gorgeous?

“Mr O,” she whispers, not sure what she’d been planning on saying, but that hardly matters - nothing matters anymore when he steps in even closer to her, leans in, and suddenly his lips are pressing against her own. 

He’s kissing her?

He’s kissing her!

He’s an incredible kisser. Jamie doesn’t have much experience to compare it to, but the way his mouth moves steadily and confidently against her own, his thumb stroking her skin and his body pressing just lightly against hers has her melting against him almost instantly. One of her small hands is still clasped in his, and the other drifts up of its own accord to clutch at his jumper, and when he angles his mouth against hers and coaxes open her lips with his tongue to deepen the kiss everything feels too damn good for Jamie to even have the capacity to question whether or not they should be doing this. Her senses are entirely engulfed by him. 

She hears a sound - like a soft whimper - shit, was that her? And she clutches him harder as he groans in response, his tongue licking behind her teeth as he slides a hand round her waist, pressing his huge palm into the small of her back, pulling her into him. 

Jamie stumbles a bit, and both of them lose balance, staggering sideways and bumping into the workbench. The jolt is like a yank back to reality, and Mr O rips himself away from her, and Jamie falls back into the bench behind her, both hands going out to grab the edge either side of her as she watches her teacher stare at her with wide, dark eyes and parted kiss-swollen lips. 

Her heart is racing, and her legs feel weak and had that actually just happened? Had he really kissed her? 

“Shit,” he curses, shoving a hand through his hair, “I’m sorry Jamie - I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Um it’s… it’s okay,” she mumbles. Her voice is a bit hoarse, her lips are still tingling, and she can feel the ghost of his tongue pressing against her own, the way it had slid over hers, swooping the insides of her mouth - _Mr O’s tongue in her mouth!_ \- and her cheeks flush crimson as she looks down, fiddling with the too-long sleeves of her lab coat. 

“No, it’s not, I… _shit,_ ” he curses again, whirling away from her, rubbing at his hair and yanking his shirt collar like he’s too hot. “You’re just so… so…”

“I’m so…?” Jamie can’t help but ask in a small, curious voice. Slowly, he turns back to face her, some distance between them now. His eyes are still dark as they lock with her own. 

“Tempting.”

Her lips part. “...Oh,” she utters, her stomach flipping. _Her - tempting?_ It wasn’t something she ever would have thought to apply to herself, and the thought that Mr O - wonderful, kind, clever, handsome Mr O found her _tempting_ enough to be irresistible sends a little thrill racing straight down her spine. She bites the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. 

“This won’t happen again,” he follows with, and the urge to smile drops immediately. 

“Oh,” she replies, then nods, frowning, “Yeah, no - of course. It’s -”

“And you won’t tell anyone - will you? It was… a moment of weakness - and I could lose my job, you understand that, don’t you?”

“Of course,” she says again robotically. 

Mr O nods and looks at her a moment longer, and Jamie is just about to open her mouth to ask him what it was, when he steps forward again, right back into her space, and lifts a hand, cupping it to her face. 

“You’re amazing, Jamie Smith,” he tells her, voice low and honest and there were those damn butterflies again, her heart leaping. 

And then, just as she’s about to reply - with a thank you or a compliment in return or a plea to know _why_ this couldn’t happen again even though every logical thought in her brain already knew exactly why that was, there’s the sound of the door handle to the lab going, and Mr O all but leaps away from her. 

“Ah!” It’s Mr Rogers, one of the other science teachers for the younger years, and he stands in the doorway with an armful of papers and a cheery smile on his face. “Apologies, I thought the lab was empty - think I just left some things in here from class earlier,” he says brightly, completely oblivious to what he’d interrupted as Mr O grabs a wad of tissue towels and dabs at the chemicals spilled on the desk. 

“No problem, go ahead,” he tells Mr Rogers smoothly. “Miss Smith just had a little spill with some chemicals so best not come over here.”

Hands shaking, Jamie grabs for another roll of tissue paper, hastily making herself look busy too. 

“Whoops!” Mr Rogers replies. “Not to worry - I think I just left a few pieces of work on the desk here… aha! Got it!” He says, holding some papers up. “Actually Mr O, when you’re done here do you think I could have a word about the year nine’s test this week?”

“Sure,” Mr O replies, dropping down the tissue into a little pile on the bench and crossing to the sink to wash his hands. “Jamie, you’re fine finishing up here on your own, aren’t you?”

“Uh - yes sir,” she replies hastily. 

“Make sure all that goes in the proper chemical waste bin - and be sure to wash your hands when you’re done.”

“Yes Mr O,” she nods, eyes on the table as she cleans up, hoping against hope that the blush on her cheeks wasn’t as obvious as it felt. 

“Good girl,” he says, as he walks over to where Mr Rogers holds the door open for him. “I’ll see you in class tomorrow.”

The door to the science lab shuts behind them as the two teachers walk out, already in conversation, and Jamie is left alone. 

Her hands still shake as she gathers all the paper towels and takes them to the bin, and she hastily washes her hands, before shutting the tap off, and bracing herself on the sink, taking a moment to just breathe. 

Had that really just happened? Had her teacher just _kissed her_ like he wanted her, then told her it couldn’t happen again…? It had felt like nothing had happened between them as he’d dismissed her, and Jamie decides not to try and decipher the way him saying _‘good girl’_ to her had made her feel like she was being praised and patronised at the same time. 

Still, there is a smile on Jamie’s lips as she tidies up her things and hastily leaves the lab.

-*-

Things are normal after that. Alarmingly normal. He sends her another picture of his fish, but otherwise… nothing. When she goes in for tutoring, things are… awkward for the first few minutes, before they get normal again. She can almost forget that anything ever happened, apart from the way her whole body _tingles_ when he looks at her sometimes. 

She wonders if he feels it too. Wonders if he thinks about her lips against his when he’s standing at the front of the class and their eyes briefly lock - whether he’s thinking about that groan he’d given as he’d dragged her close when she sticks her hand up to answer his questions. 

She wonders if he thinks about her when he goes home at night. Whether he sees her hazel eyes in his mind when he closes his eyes, the way she thinks of dark chocolate brown ones. Whether he thinks about that kiss the way she does, with a hand shoved down the front of her pyjama bottoms, huddled under her duvet in bed at night.

Probably not. 

“I hate this book,” Jamie says, glaring moodily down at the novel in front of her. “It’s _boring_.” 

It’s mid-morning break, about a week after that afternoon in the lab, and while her peers had filed out of Mr O’s class she’d mumbled about needing to catch up on the reading and stayed seated at her desk near the front. She did need to get the next chapters read before literature this afternoon, and she hated trying to read in the noisy break room. She tells herself it has everything to do with that and nothing at all to do with a compulsion to squeeze in some time alone with O. 

“It isn’t that bad, surely,” says Mr. O, and he catches her eye, one eyebrow up. It’s the same look as the one in the selfie he had sent the other week, and she shifts, pressing her thighs together. 

“It’s _boring_ ,” she repeats. “All the books from that time period seem so… boring, and I don’t want to read them. Can’t we read something a little more interesting? A little more _modern_?” 

He tuts, frowning. When he frowns, a line appears between his eyebrows, and she wants to reach out and press her thumb against it, smooth it out again. “Not all books from that era are boring,” he tells her. “Have you read others?”

“Not really,” she admits. “I’ve been put off by everything they keep giving us in class, or the stuff my dad keeps pushing on me to read because it’ll be educational or something.” She waves a hand dismissively.

“Not everything has to be educational,” he agrees, and then he stands up. She watches him walk to the cabinet, her eyes on his backside, his legs. He’s… handsome, in ways that make her stomach twist and her knickers wet, and she doesn’t know how she feels about that.

She’s been attracted to people before - girls in her grade, boys, men and women on telly. But this feels a little different. There’s something about the way she sees him looking at her sometimes that feels… dangerous, in a way that she likes and is terrified of at the same time. 

Perhaps it was because he’d kissed her. Or perhaps it was because he’d _only_ kissed her… Jamie shoves _those_ thoughts quickly from her head as he crosses back over to her. 

He hands her an old paperback, and their fingers brush - it’s like a little jolt of electricity,and she pulls her hand back, still holding the book. 

“I’m going to trust you with that,” he tells her, his tone very serious. “It’s from my personal collection, so please be careful with it.” 

“I’ll be careful,” she says, and she’s blushing. He’s trusting _her_ with a book from his personal collection. 

“Tell me what you think,” he says, and he smiles at her. “I think you’ll like it. I know I did, especially when I was your age.” 

The way he says “your age” makes her flush, and she stares at her lap. “Yeah,” she says quietly. “Thanks.”

He pats her on the shoulder, and maybe she’s imagining it, but does his hand linger? She’s warm, her nipples hard and her cunt achingly empty. 

-*-

The book is a bit hard to get into, at first. She reads it in the bathtub, up to her chin in bubbles, her arms up over her. It takes her a few pages to understand the older language, but when she does.

Well.

_Well_. 

Jamie blushes, all the way to her hairline. She rubs her thighs together, as she turns the pages carefully. She’s got one hand over her mouth now, and she’s biting down on her bent finger like a character in an old movie. The words… well, the things she’s reading aren’t necessarily new, but it’s mind boggling to imagine her teacher reading this. Reading it at _her_ age, even, and it’s strange to think of him ever being her age. 

She puts the book down on top of the toilet, dripping water on the bathroom floor, and she sinks down into the water. Her hand slides between her thighs, and she finds the hard nub of her clit, hidden amongst the thin hair she’s got down there. She rubs herself to a quick, trembling orgasm, and _maybe_ she’s imagining Mr. O with his head under her skirt like the lady and her “gentleman caller’ in the book she’d just been reading, but... Nobody has to know that. 

Nobody at all. 

-*-


	3. Chapter 3

When Jamie gets out of her bath and pads into her bedroom, she’s got a text message waiting for her. 

_ Enjoying the book? I saw you reading it during your lunch break.  _ It’s from Mr. O. 

She bites her lip, and she’s flushing.  _ I like it, _ she says. I _ t isn’t what I expected. _

_ You’re braver than I am, reading it in public,  _ comes his response, and she flushes more, burrowing down into her covers. 

_ I’ve got a good poker face _ , she responds. _ I read fanfic on my phone when I’m at home. _ Wait. Shit. Is he gonna think she’s a giant nerd now?

_ You’ve got me at an advantage there, I’m afraid, _ comes his response. _ It’s harder for me to hide my enjoyment, unfortunately. _

_ A poker face isn’t too hard to practice, _ she tells him.  _ It helps that my brothers are all really good at playing it and used to let me stay up if I played with them, so I’ve had to get used to practicing. _

_ It isn’t my face that gives me away,  _ comes his response. 

It takes her a few moments, before she realizes. When she does, her cheeks heat up.  _ I guess you’re right, _ she responds, before she has a chance to think. 

_ Mind you, some girls are obvious,  _ he adds.  _ Not as obvious as men, don’t get me wrong, but still… not exactly subtle. _

… Fuck. She’s so wet that it’s starting to hurt, and she pulls the blanket up over her head, as if anyone in her empty room could see her typing.  _ What d’you mean? _

_ Girls squirm in their seats, _ is his almost instant response. _ Press their thighs together. If they’re worked up enough their nipples get hard, and you can see them poking through their shirts. _

Jamie looks down at her own chest, sees the little bumps of her nipples under her sleep shirt. She’s been wriggling her hips, and when she jams her hand down her pajama pants and between her legs to grind against the meat of her thumb, it sends desperate jolts of pleasure up and down her back, and she whimpers into her own hand. 

_ Do you notice that stuff a lot? _ She shouldn’t be asking that, she shouldn’t be pushing this, she shouldn’t be doing any of this. It’s a supremely bad idea, and yet...

_ Sometimes, yeah. _ He sounds so calm. Or is she imagining things? 

She’s still rubbing when her phone buzzes on her pillow, and she pulls it up, squints at the bright screen. _ What part of the book are you up to? _ She reads. 

_ The bit in the sitting room, _ she responds, and she’s so turned on she can smell herself on her hand, has she ever been this wet before? 

_ The first bit with the sitting room?  _ He sends back, and she shudders, her toes curling.  _ Would you believe me if I told you that the next scene in there is even moreso? _

She whimpers, humping into her hand and awkwardly balancing her phone on her chest with the other one. _ Waht do you maen mreso? _ She can’t even be ashamed of her typos, because her orgasm hits her like a blackjack to the back of the skull, and she’s convulsing, her hips jerking upwards and her mouth falling open. 

_ I’ll leave it for you to find out _ , he responds, then;  _ Judging by the typos, you’re enjoying it, and I wouldn’t want to spoil your fun ;) _

She stares at the little winky face, and she whimpers as another desperate bolt of arousal hits her, and she grinds against her hand again. She can’t think of another response to that, and she pushes her phone to the side to roll onto her belly and hump her hand into another desperate, sticky orgasm. 

-*-

Mr O doesn’t mention the book or their conversation again the next time she sees him. Actually - she doesn’t see much of him that week, just fifteen minutes in the mornings for form registration, and then she doesn’t have any classes with him until thursday - usually. This week however, she was going out on a school trip with the rest of her history class to a museum, and although Jamie loves museums and trips, she’s feeling a bit glum about the fact that she’s missing double science with Mr O. 

She is surprised however, when she climbs up onto the coach after Yaz, and comes face to face with the man himself, sitting at the front of the bus with a clipboard and pen in hand. 

“Jamie Smith,” he greets as she halts, blinking at him. 

He ticks off her name then looks back up at her and - 

Oh god, did he just  _ wink _ at her? 

Giving herself a little shake, she hastily steps forward. 

“Mr O, I thought - I didn’t know you were coming today.”

“One of the teachers couldn’t make it so I stepped in,” he says smoothly, then motions her aside. “Take a seat Miss Smith.”   
Jamie realises there’s still a line of students waiting to board behind her, and hastily scampers past him, hurrying down the aisle and flopping down into an empty pair of seats at the back behind Yaz and Ryan

“You alright?” Yaz turns round in her seat to look at her. 

“Yeah - yeah fine. You alright?”

“I’m good…” Yaz is looking at her oddly, and Jamie busies herself with getting out her earphones as the rest of the coach fills up with students and noisy chatter, settling in for the trip and trying to get her frantic heart to calm down.

She’s still fiddling with the wire which  _ always _ seems to be able to work itself into the most complicated of knots in a matter of mere minutes, when a shadow casts over her. 

“There’s no more seats left, and I told Mrs Banbury I’d sit at the back to keep an eye from here. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Oh,” Jamie replies to Mr O. “N-no. No, of course not!”

“Thanks.” She move her bag and he sits down next to her, and Jamie’s space is invaded with a scent that’s distinctly  _ him _ . It’s not like the cheap strong-scented aftershaves the boys in her year wear that make her wrinkle her nose in disgust, it’s more… subtle. Musky. And there’s something underlying it too that makes something deep inside Jamie curl up tight in delight. 

She tries not to think about the last time she was close enough to him to smell him like this, and hastily goes back to fiddling with her earphones with slightly less steady hands. 

Other than the odd polite comment, he doesn’t speak to her on the way there. Why would he, she supposes? Sure they’ve been texting, but it’s not like it  _ means  _ anything… and there was that afternoon in the science lab, but Mr O had never even brought it up since and sometimes Jamie half wonders if she hadn’t dreamt that he’d kissed her that day. 

The museum is good. They are given free rein of the place and Jamie trails around with her friends for a while before they spend too long in the cafe at lunch and she gets bored and wanders off alone. She finds the section with a load of skulls from prehistoric creatures, and meanders through the cases, so wrapped up in reading the little pieces of information on each one that she steps sideways to the next and bumps into somebody. 

“Mr O!”

“Careful there,” he chuckles, hand on her hip to steady her. 

“Sorry, wasn’t looking where I was going,” she mumbles. 

“I could see that,” he replies, and his hand is still on her hip. “Having a good day?”

“Yes,” she nods enthusiastically. “I love it here. Used to come all the time when I was little but I haven’t been for years. Have you seen this skull? It’s sixty-eight thousand years old!”

“Fascinating,” he drawls. He glances around, and Jamie’s eyes quickly dart to follow his, noting that the section of the museum they’re in is empty apart from them, and her breath catches in her throat when he steps in closer. 

“Mr O,” she breathes, her back hitting the case behind her. 

“Jamie,” he replies, and his voice is very soft and low all of a sudden. “You know, I -”

But he doesn’t get to finish what he’s saying, because the sound of a loud burst of laughter drifts around the corner, and he hastily steps away from her before a group of her peers round it nosily. 

Jamie hurries away on weak legs, and the rest of the day passes quickly before it’s time to board the coach in the fading light outside the museum. 

The bus is a lot quieter on the way home. The lights are dimmed and most of her peers are either slumbering or listening to music, a couple are chattering quietly or watching videos on their phones. 

Jamie sits at the back with Mr O again - he’s let her have the window seat again which gave her a little buzz of fondness when he had stood back and motioned her in with that familiar smile of his. 

She feels antsy sitting next to him. Like there’s… tension fizzing between them. She didn’t know what he’d been going to say to her before they were interrupted earlier, but Jamie can’t help the feeling that whatever it was was about to prelude him kissing her again. 

And that was…

Well. 

Her head spun with excitement just thinking about it. 

“Are you cold?” He speaks up a short while into the journey. It’s the first thing he’s said to her and she almost hates the way it makes her stomach flip. 

“I’m okay,” she replies, but he pulls a hoodie from his backpack on the floor all the same, spreading it over her lap so her bare legs are covered, and her cheeks flush pink, touched at the gesture. “Thanks,” she smiles. She tucks her hands under the warm soft fabric, wondering if he’s worn it already, thinking of it next to his skin. She longs to lift it to her nose and see if it smells like him, but she’s aware that might be a little odd with him sitting next to her. 

Her legs  _ were _ a little chilly - she would have worn tights, but, well… she sort of likes the way she catches Mr O’s eyes sweeping over her legs sometimes, lingering where the top of her school skirt brushes her thighs. 

“Better?” He leans in to ask her quietly. 

“Much, thanks. Should have worn tights - didn’t think about us coming back this late.”

He chuckles, and then the hand nearest her reaches across and - she inhales sharply when it slips beneath the fabric of his hoodie to rest on her bare thigh, rubbing over her skin. “Cant have you getting cold,” he murmurs, and goes back to the book he’s reading. 

His hand remains on her thigh, and Jamie bites her lip. He’s stroking her skin with his thumb and - he just wanted to make sure she was warm, right? That’s what he’d said. And she is certainly  _ warm _ now, her body temperature rising rapidly, heat radiating from where his palm lay hot on her skin, his thumb tracing absent circles. 

She swallows hard, and turns to look out the window at the lights of the other cars on the motorway, trying not to fixate on the feel of the hand on her thigh, and the thumb moving over her flesh. 

The heat is building inside her, and suddenly she’s too warm. She wants to throw the hoodie off, let some air at her skin - but then anybody who happened to stand up or come back here for whatever reason would  _ see _ Mr O’s hand on her thigh and… that wasn’t typical, was it? Jamie didn’t want anyone to see. This felt private - a moment between them that was  _ theirs _ . She shifts in her seat, trying to get her rising heart rate to calm down as the heat in her body starts to gather, centering directly between her legs. 

_ Oh god,  _ she was turned on. By nothing but a simple  _ hand _ on her thigh - and imagine if Mr O knew! Her cheeks burn with embarrassment, and she tries not to squirm at the wetness pooling in her panties. He would think her so immature - inexperienced enough that an innocent touch could set her off like this. 

Jamie’s breath catches in her throat when that hand suddenly  _ squeezes _ and then - then slides  _ upwards _ \- just a couple of inches, thumb still tracing circles, fingers dipping just under the hem of her skirt… 

Okay… maybe not so innocent then. 

Jamie’s hearts are going mad in her chest, and she has to bite back a whimper from the arousal that flames and tingles between her legs as Mr O - her teacher - feels her up beneath his hoodie in the back of the school bus. 

His hand inches higher still, and Jamie’s thighs part on instinct. His little finger is  _ so close _ to her burning hot centre now, and she wonders if he can feel the heat radiating from her there. Isn’t sure whether to be embarrassed about it or not - was it normal to be this turned on without even being touched? What if he  _ did _ touch her!? What if he slipped his fingers inside her panties right here, and felt how wet she was for him? Would he like that? 

He leans in a little, and Jamie holds her breath. “Seems like you’ve warmed up nicely now, anyway.” He murmurs quietly to her, and  _ oh god _ , Jamie’s eyes go wide and her cheeks  _ burn _ .

“I -”

He chuckles, squeezing her thigh. His fingers are on her inner thigh now, little finger  _ so close _ to her core that she can almost feel his touch there. “I’m glad,” he says. “Like I say… wouldn't want you getting cold.”

Jamie swallows hard. “I’m definitely not cold right now,” she breathes, voice just above a whisper. 

“No you don’t feel it,” he utters back, and then he glances around them - to gage if anybody is looking their way perhaps - before he leans in, his mouth so close to Jamie’s ear she can feel the brush of his breath when he speaks softly into it; “you feel very _ , _ ” his hand slips up, turning between her legs as her thighs fall open and he  _ cups her _ through her damp underwear - “ _ very _ hot…”

Jamie bites her bottom lip hard, inhaling sharply, eyes squeezing shut.  _ He’s touching her _ . Touching her right where she was burning hot and achingly wet - and could he feel how damp she was through the thin cotton of her panties? He had barely touched her, and she was soaked, and Jamie half wants him to slip his fingers beneath the material more than anything, and half dreads the idea of him doing so and finding how wet she was there. 

Too late to contemplate it - his fingers are pushing aside the material and then he’s touching her, his skin on hers, and Jamie impossibly feels more wetness rush to meet his touch. 

“Sorry,” she puffs out with a breath of air. Her chest is heaving and she’s sweating. 

“Sorry?” He replies, just a quiet utterance, voice still by her ear, “What for, love?” His fingers have started to stroke her, up and down, sweeping through her most intimate parts with a confident, gentle touch. 

She shudders. “I’m - I know I’m…” She squirms, trying not to press her hips down into his touch. “Um…”

He turns his head into her, reaching across and pointing out the window with his other hand as an excuse to lean in even closer and face her. His fingers speed up between her legs, stroking her deftly, finding something that makes her hips jerk and pressing against it. “You’re perfect,” he whispers to her, and Jamie turns her head to look at him, his dark eyes glittering in the dim light. 

“I.. I am?”

“You know wet is a good thing, right?” He breathes, and Jamie can feel his hot breath on her lips, a wash of mint across her face from the gum he and she had shared earlier. Her cheeks flush. 

“I know that,” she replies quickly. “I - I know how it works.”   
“Then what are you apologising for, love?”

Her stomach flipping in that delightful little way it always does when he calls her love, Jamie tries to focus enough to come up with a reply through the sensations he’s drawing from her body. 

“It’s just… I know it’s a  _ lot _ ,” she mumbles. 

He gives a soft groan, and Jamie sees his eyes close a bit as he slides his fingers down and -  _ oh _ \- presses one  _ inside her _ , sinking it into her body, right down to the knuckle. 

“You feel…” he turns his head, presses his lips to her ear, “absolutely incredible…”

She whimpers at that, and hastily covers it with a cough, hand to her mouth. She keeps it there, biting down on her knuckle as Mr O strokes her - right inside of her, his middle finger easing in and out and curling up and back, caressing her steadily and perfectly, and then he eases it out, and the next time he presses in it’s with two. 

Her hips are shifting restlessly, and her free hand is clenched tight in the material of his hoodie. He sits back in his seat again, but he’s right up against her side, and his hand is moving beneath the hoodie, his fingers pumping in and out of her - and  _ oh god _ , she can  _ hear it _ \- hear how wet she is down there and if she could hear it did that mean the students around them would be able to too? 

Seeming to share the same thought, Mr O slips his fingers out from inside her, and Jamie has half a second to try and decide if she’s relieved or disappointed when instead he pushes his hand down the front of her panties, and his middle finger quickly locates that little bundle of nerves near the top that sends white hot pleasure shooting straight through her core. 

It’s different to when she touches herself like this. Perhaps it was simply his larger fingers, but the way he spreads her open with his index and ring finger and rubs rapidly at her clit with his middle finger has pleasure building alarmingly quickly inside of her. 

Her head hits the back of the chair, her teeth sink down into her knuckle, hips shifting restlessly and she - god she’s going to come - he’s going to make her come here, like this, at the back of the bus with his hand in her knickers and she knows -  _ she knows _ this is terrible and depraved and that they absolutely should not be doing this -  _ here _ of all places, but at the same time it’s so perfectly incredible she wouldn’t want it any other way. 

Mr O coughs when she comes - to cover the badly muffled gasps and whimpers she makes, and she’s glad of it, her whole body shuddering on the seat, fist clenched tight in the material of his hoodie as pleasure washes over her in waves. 

She is panting when he slips his hand from inside her underwear, chest heaving, and he drags his wet fingers across her bare thighs as he withdraws his hand, letting her feel her own slickness. She flushes, body trembling, and watches with wide eyes as Mr O slips a hanky from his pocket and surreptitiously wipes his fingers on it before shoving it back inside.

“Sorry,” she breathes again, the word exhaled quickly, and her teacher’s eyes slide to hers. She swears they are even darker than usual. 

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for,” he murmurs quietly to her, then glances around them again before he reaches out and takes her hand, plucking it from where it’s still fisted in his hoodie, pulling it over into his lap and - 

_ Oh _ . 

Jamie’s eyes go wider than wide when he places her hand directly on his crotch - directly on…  _ that _ , which Jamie cannot help but notice is… 

_ Hard. _

Her lips part further, she’s still breathing fast, and almost subconsciously, her fingers flex on him, squeezing curiously. 

He gives a soft muffled grunt, then hastily clears his throat before grabbing the hoodie from her lap, dragging it over his instead. She does it again, squeezing him softly before she rubs her hand gently over the bulge. He’s so  _ hot _ through the material of his trousers. Barely thinking, Jamie reaches up, fingers clumsy and fumbling as she tries to unbutton his trousers one-handed, suddenly desperate for nothing more than to find out exactly how he feels. 

He grabs her hand beneath the hoodie, stilling her movements, and when she glances up at him, his gaze darts around them again; a reminder of their extremely precarious setting. 

His eyes find hers, and glitter with an unspoken promise as he shakes his head once, just subtly. 

“Not here baby,” he whispers, and -  _ fuck _ \- Jamie swears her knickers flood with wetness anew at just that word leaving his lips. 

He’s right - of course, and she hastily slips her hand from his and beneath the hoodie, folding them together in her lap.

There’s a pause, and she tries not to squirm, tries not to listen to the slightly laboured breathing of her teacher from next to her and think about the arousal in his pants. Arousal for  _ her _ …  _ she did that _ . A thrill shoots through her, and Jamie can’t help but feel rather smug as she curls up on the seat against the window. 

_ He wanted her.  _ He was hard for her, and she did that. God - he’d just given her an  _ orgasm _ with his fingers on a school bus and she knew it was wrong in so many ways, but Jamie cannot bring herself to care about any of them. 

He wanted her. And nobody had to know. 

Nobody but them. 

\--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like this so far and you have a minute to spare for a comment please let us know 🙏 ❤️


	4. Chapter 4

Jamie has to admit, when Mr O had told her ‘not here’ on the coach, she had assumed he meant that it would be happening _somewhere._

She’d loitered around when they got back to school, telling her friends she was getting picked up and hanging around pretending to root through her backpack as Mr O and the other teacher checked off everyone clambering off the bus. She doesn’t know what she’d been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t for Mr O to bid Mrs Banbury good night, and stride off towards the car park without so much as a glance in Jamie’s direction. 

He probably had somewhere to be. That’s what she’d told herself as she walked home, arms wrapped tight around herself against the chill evening air, a strange emptiness inside her as the encounter on the coach played over and over in her mind. She was certain that when she saw him in the morning he’d mention what had occurred - perhaps - her heart beat quickly at the thought - arrange for them to meet up somewhere that wasn’t school. That’s probably all he was worried about. 

Jamie gets into school early, but Mr O is running late, and hurries into class just before the bell goes when it’s already full with the rest of the students, calls out Jamie’s name for the register without even a glance up at her, and strides off again after dismissing them all off to class for the day. 

She can’t concentrate on any of her morning classes, gets in trouble twice for not paying attention, and by lunch time she’s worked herself into a state. 

What if he regretted what they’d done? Or what if - and this thought was even worse - it had been meaningless to him? What if he hadn’t even thought twice about her since they got off the bus? She considers texting him, and wastes almost the entire lunch break huddled in a loo cubicle tapping her finger restlessly against her phone as she debates with herself, before shoving it away into her pocket and hastening to afternoon class at the sound of the bell. He’d have gone home by now; he always left early on Fridays and she hates a little that she’s memorised his schedule so thoroughly. 

She spends double french trying not to think about the feel of his fingers between her legs, the way she’d inhaled his delicious scent with every short breath, his low voice in her ear and his hard cock beneath her small hand when he’d placed it on his crotch. God - she’d touched his _cock_ … was it immature of her to be so thrilled at that thought? Mr O was an adult, and it probably wasn’t that big of a deal to him… Jamie needed to get a grip. 

The weekend passes, and he doesn’t text her. 

Why would he, she supposes? He was probably busy, she’s sure he has friends and a life… he’s not going to be texting his sixteen year old student over the weekends. 

Some part of Jamie knows that what had happened between them was morally questionable taking into account who he was… but it wasn’t _like that_ between them. She liked Mr O - really liked him. And he liked her - didn’t he? He thought she was clever and valued her opinions and sometimes he looked at her like she was a wonder. He wanted her… she thinks? But he was a good man, and that was probably why he’d started to pull away. Perhaps he was worried she would tell someone what happened between them - which was ridiculous. Jamie isn’t _stupid._

Monday rolls around, and Mr O acts totally normal when she walks into class past him - polite, friendly. Asks her how her weekend was… like nothing had ever happened. 

He takes the register then asks Jamie if he can have a quick word as the class file out on the way to classes, and Jamie’s palms sweat and her legs go weak as she hangs around at the front of the class, bag hitched over her shoulder. 

She thinks he’s going to wait until the last student leaves - certain this was it - he was about to tell her that what had happened was a mistake and that it could never occur again. But instead, he simply pulls a couple of books from his own bag, and hands them to her while there’s still students bustling around them. 

“Um - thanks?” She reaches out a slightly shaky hand to take them, confused. 

“Since you liked the last one, I thought you’d enjoy these two,” he says simply with an easy smile. 

“Oh - thanks,” she repeats as she glances down at them - one by the same author as the first, and the other by someone called H.P. Lovecraft. “That’s… really kind of you...”

“Lovecraft is dreadfully racist,” he warns her, “and I wouldn’t read him late at night, since he’s surprisingly good at building atmosphere.”

He doesn’t tell her anything about the other book, and she’s not sure if she’s excited or disappointed as he dismisses her to class with a wave of his hand. 

It’s been almost a week - another Friday night, in fact - when her phone buzzes. 

Trying to ignore the way her heart practically drops into her stomach at the sight of Mr O lighting up in her notification center, she swipes to open the message with shaking hands. 

_How are you enjoying the new books?_ the text reads.

Jamie stares at it for a full minute, heart pounding before she can think to type a reply. He was asking about the books. That was good, right? If he wanted to chat to her like they used to then maybe… maybe things were okay between them? Perhaps Jamie was just being utterly ridiculous and childish and he’d simply been busy ever since the coach.

_The Lovecraft is pretty good_ , she responds. _You weren’t kidding about the racism, though._

_He was a tosser_ comes the immediate response. _I read a thing once that siad he was afraid of sex, seafood, and forigners and I don’t think I’ve ever seen it desfribed any better._

Jamie frowns at her phone. Something feels different about his texting, although she can’t put her finger on what it is. 

_You alright, Mr. O?_ She finally types out.

_My mate took me out_ , comes the response. _Stag party, but I’ve never been a stag party type, so I had a few pints, then went home. Then figured, since I’m pissed to begiin with, I might as well keep the party going._

Her phone buzzes again, and it is a picture of a glass with some kind of amber liquid. 

_Hence the typos_ , she sends, before she can stop herself. 

_Exactly! Got it in one!_

Jamie grins in spite of herself. _Make sure to drink water_ , she sends. _That’s what my dad always says, when my brothers get pissed._

_I’ve been drinking water, don’t worry._ Another picture, this one of a water bottle, half empty. 

_That’s good_ , she sends. _You don’t want a bad hangover._

_Have you ever had one? A hangover, I mean._

She frowns. _No_ , she sends. _I’m too young to drink._

_When I was your age, I was drinking_ he sends. _I shoudlnt’ be telling you this, but it can be our secret. But when I was your age i used to get pissed about once a month. My dad made his own wine, and he had so much of the stuff we ende dup with extras that he didn’t notice went missing._

She tries to imagine making wine - she’s seen videos of people stepping on grapes, and that’s about the extent of her knowledge. Then her phone buzzes again. 

_You’re a good kid_ , says the text from Mr. O. _A really good kid._

_I’m not a kid_ , she responds to him, faster than she should. 

_You are,_ he texts. _You’re a much better kid than I was at your age. I was off having sex and drinking, and you’re at home on a Friday night reading Lovecraft._

She eyes the spot where she put the other books - under the jumper flung over a chair. She’s a bit too embarrassed to read it, after the second parlor scene. Knowing that he’s read it, that he’s _reacted_ to it… it’s a lot. 

_I don’t like the way alcohol tastes_ , she texts him. 

_Are you having sex?_

It is such a blatant question that she almost doesn’t know how to respond. What’s she supposed to say to that? _I wouldn’t be talking to you while I was having sex with someone_ , she says. _That’d just be rude._

_Rude to me, or the person you were having sex with?_

_Both, really._ She’s blushing very hard, all the way up to her hairline. 

_Anyone I’ve had sex with wasn’t able to use their fingers well enough to type as well as you are for at least half an hour afterwards_ , he sends her, and she bites her lip. 

_That doesn’t sound like it would be good for productivity_ , she sends him, after a full minute of staring down at her screen. Then she groans out loud. _Productivity_?! Really?!

_If you’re worried about productivity, you’re clearly not having good enough sex_ , he sends her. 

_I’m not having any sex. Unless you count having sex with yourself._ Oh _god_ , she just _said_ that to her _teacher_. Her teacher who made her come, admittedly, but he hasn't talked about it at all since then. She wants to die. She wants to destroy her phone and move to Antarctica to study penguins and never talk to another living soul again. 

_It depends who you ask_ , comes the reply. _And how you do it._

_What does that mean?_ She’s got a hand between her legs, and she presses down, forcing the seam of her pajamas against her clit. 

_If you’re humping a pillow or a teddy, I’d say that doesn’t count as sex_ , comes the response. _If you’re rubbing your clit, it’s a borderline case. And if you’re penetrating yourself with something, then you’ve hit sex._

Seeing the word “clit” on her phone screen, right next to all those other innocuous words… it makes her shiver. Her nipples are so hard, and she’s rubbing her clit faster. 

Her phone buzzes again. _So_ , the message says, _would you say you’ve had sex with yourself?_

She’s staring down at her phone for almost three minutes, before the phone buzzes again.

_It’s simpler for boys, I think_ , Mr. O sends. _We’ve got something to put into something, so it doesn’t feel real if we’re not putting it into something. Although then again, we *can* technically put things in ourselves too, but it still feels… different._

She’s so wet it’s soaked through her pajama bottoms, through her knickers. Her fingers are getting slippery. _By those rules, I’m not having sex_ , she sends him. _Apart from that one time,_ she adds, her cheeks getting darker. 

_I’m surprised,_ he sends. _You’ve always struck me as the type who’d want to explore._

_I like exploring fine_ , she types out. _It’s just that it’s hard to… navigate around down there. It’s simpler for you boys, I think._

_It is easier being a boy in a lot of ways_ , he agrees. _I don’t know if I’d make a pretty girl, anyway._

_You’d be a pretty girl_ , she tells him. She’s pretty sure she believes it, too. 

_Not as pretty as you are_ , he says. _Fuck. I sholdn’t have said, that, I’m sorry._

_No, don’t apologize,_ she types. The phone is inches from her nose, and she’s pulled the blankets over her head. It’s stuffy, but it feels safer. _I don’t get called pretty that often. I’m not the type._

_You’re gorgeous_ , comes a near instantaneous reply. _You’re the most beautiful girl in the whole school. Sometimes i have troulbe keeping my eyes off of you when I’m teaching._ There’s the three little dots at the bottom of her screen, showing that he’s typing, and the way she’s rubbing her clit gets faster, in anxiety and anticipation. 

_I don’t believe you,_ she says, because that can’t be right. She’s attractive enough, she supposes, but any school that has the likes of Martha Jones or Amy Pond wouldn’t have _her_ as the most attractive girl in the school.

_Do you want proof?_

She blinks. _What proof?_ She’s holding her phone with both hands, and the musky scent of her cunt is trapped in the blanket tent with her, and she needs to breathe some fresh air, but it feels… safer, under the blanket. 

Her phone buzzes, and it’s a picture message. She opens it up, to see… a lump. A lump, covered in checkered cloth, and _oh_ , that must be - 

_Sorry, it’s bad manners to just send someone a dick pic liek that._

It looks… big. Bigger than she’s thought they would be. _You don’t have to apologize_ , she tells him. 

_That’s all for you,_ he sends. _I was thinking about how cute you must be, touching yourself. It happened the last time we were talking about the parlor scene, and you mentioned how much you liked it._

_I’m glad you liked it_ , she says, and oh, that’s even more awkward, isn’t it? 

_Can I see?_

_See what?_ She’s got her hand back between her legs, in her pajamas this time. She presses against her clit, and it’s slippery, sending sweet shockwaves through her whole body as she keeps touching it. 

_I showed you something of mine that you’ve never seen before. Can I see something of yours?_

“Oh fuck,” she says out loud, very quietly. _I don’t know how to take a picture of that_ , she sends, because the idea of having to navigate her phone around like that gives her a headache. 

_It’s easier for me, isn’t it? That’s alright. How about you take your top off for me?_ Another buzz. _I promise I won’t show it to anyone else._

She hasn’t even considered that. But. Well. He did show his. 

_I’m not really big_ , she tells him. _I don’t want to disappoint you._

_You’ll never disappoint me_ , he promised. _Please?_ Another picture, this time with his hand gripping his erection through his trousers. There's a wet spot.

“Wonder what it feels like,” she murmurs, mostly to herself. She pushes her blankets off, and then she takes her shirt off. She has to turn on a light as well - she’s never taken a dirty picture before. What are the rules for taking a dirty picture?

She debates whether she should search “how to send a nude,” then just snaps the picture, one arm under her breasts to push them up. Her nipples are hard in the cooler air, and a dusky pink. She sends it to him before she can regret her decisions, and then puts her phone face down, her whole face dark red. She doesn’t put her shirt back on, though. She’s close to coming, but she wants… she wants to see how he’ll react. Or if he’ll tell her it’s all a mistake, that he meant - 

Her phone buzzes again. 

It’s another picture. His erection, but this time, it’s his cock, poking out from the waistband of his trousers. It’s… big. There’s curly dark hair at the base of it, and the bulbous head is leaking. She’s biting her lip again, and she imagines feeling it in her hand. Imagines feeling it in her _mouth_ , like in that one video she watched, ages ago. 

_Can you pinch your nipples for me?_ A simple question, as if he’s asking her to borrow a book, or whether she finished her test early. 

She pinches her nipples, hard, and then impulsively sends a picture of her thumb and forefinger pinching, pulling it. She’s shaking, her legs spreading wider, and her feet planting flat on the bottom sheet. The pinching is sending more pleasure jolting across her nerves, feeding into the desperate heat inside of her. 

_Are you wet?_

She sends a thumbs up emoji, because she can’t think of an answer, and she’s so close to coming. 

She receives a short video clip, and she presses “play” with a trembling finger. 

“You look so good,” says her teacher’s voice, and she’s never heard it like that before. Dark, rough, and there’s her teacher’s cock, his fist moving up and down the length of it. She can hear the quiet, wet noises, and it’s twitching in his hand. 

_Make yourself come for me_ , reads the next text. _I want to come all over your gorgeous little tits._

She drops her phone on the bed, and she shoves her finger into her mouth to keep from crying out as she moves faster, and then she’s _coming_ , wet and pulsing against her own fingers. She’s lying there panting when her phone buzzes yet again, and she picks it up, squinting at the message. 

Another picture - this one of his cock, and there’s sticky whiteness from it, with a string connecting his hand to his cock. _Messy_ is the one word answer.

_I came_ , she says, because it feels like she should say something to him. She’s still tingling, achingly empty and throbbing with her orgasm. 

_That’s good_ , he responds. _You made me come so hard, Jamie. Thank you. Can I keep that picture, for next time?_

She squirms, thinking of him masturbating to a picture of _her_. It’s a heady thought. _Of course you can_ , she says, then, emboldened; _unless you want to ask for other ones._

_If I have your permission to, I most definitely will_ , he sends, _but now would be a good time to go to sleep. I’ve had too much to drink._

_Sleep well_ , she says. _Talk to you in the morning?_ Wait, no, is that too needy? _If you want to_ , she adds.

_Goodnight, Jamie,_ he responds. _Looking forward to talking to you._

She smiles as she sinks back down into her pillows, still topless. “He actually likes me,” she whispers into the quiet darkness of her room, and she’s still smiling as her eyes flutter shut. 

-*-


	5. Chapter 5

When Jamie wakes up the next day - late because it’s a Saturday - there is a text waiting for her on her phone. It’s from Mr O, sent at 9.36am, and she opens it with shaking fingers.

 _Good morning beautiful,_ it reads. Jamie stares at those words, her whole face breaking into a ridiculous smile, and she snuggles back down in bed, pulling the duvet up over her head with her phone as she bites her lip, reading those three words over and over. 

Realising after a moment through her giddiness that she should probably respond - he sent that over two hours ago after all - she taps the little box underneath and types out a _good morning._

Was that enough? What else should she say? He’d complimented her… should she send him a compliment too? She wouldn’t be sure how to phrase it…

She types out five different variations of messages before she goes back to the original _good morning!_ And hits send. 

Her phone pings again almost immediately. _Almost afternoon now. Nice lie in? ;)_

 _Oi it’s Saturday!_ She messages back. He doesn’t reply again, and after a few minutes of staring at her phone she sends another message while chewing her lip. _Sorry for not replying sooner._

 _No worries,_ comes Mr O’s reply. _You need your sleep at your age._

Jamie frowns at that. It seemed… condescending, almost, to see the reminder of how much younger than him she was after what had happened between them last night. He’d seen her tits… did he really still think of her as just a kid? 

Insecurity rising, she hastily texts back. _I can’t be that much younger than you. What are you, 25?_

That was nine years. That wasn’t much, was it? There was eight years between her parents. 

Her phone pings. _You flatter me ;)_

Jamie blinks at the words, waits for another reply but it doesn’t come.

 _So how old are you then?_ She presses. She’d never been much good with ages but surely he couldn’t be more than late twenties. Twenty seven… twenty eight at the most. 

_It’s not polite to ask someone their age, you know._

_Hardly seems fair when you know mine, Jamie shoots back._

_Fair enough._ Comes his reply, and Jamie waits with baited breath for his next message. _I’m thirty-four baby._

She inhales sharply, and stares at the screen. A mix of feelings rush through her. _Thirty four…_ shit. Well… that was an age gap. Eighteen years to be precise.

“Fuck,” she whispers out loud. 

He’d called her baby again, just like he had on the coach, and her heart beats quicker at it but… now she wonders if that wasn’t a patronising term rather than an affectionate one. Perhaps he _did_ think of her as a baby. She supposes… compared to him, she practically was. Jamie doesn’t know how that makes her feel. Her phone pings again, and she realises it’s been several minutes and she hasn’t replied.

 _See,_ his message says. _Bet you’d rather I hadn’t told you._

Biting her lip, Jamie types out a hasty reply. _No, no it’s fine._ She sends the message, then pauses before quickly sending another. _You just look younger, is all._

_I don’t think I do particularly, but thanks ;)_

Jamie doesn’t know how to reply, and busies herself with getting out of bed and pulling on a hoodie and some fluffy socks when her phone pings again. 

_Any plans for the weekend?_

_Not much_ , she texts back. _Gotta watch my brother play football this afternoon. And homework, mostly. You?_

 _This and that_ , comes his vague reply. _I’ll leave you to get on with your day then. Have a good one._

 _You too!_ She puts a little smiley face emoji on the end, then stares at it, frets that he’d think it too childish, and deletes it. She sighs as she hits send, and heads downstairs in search of some breakfast. 

The weekend passes quickly - they always seem to. Mr O texts her a couple more times, on saturday evening then around lunchtime sunday - but it’s short messages about trivial things, and Jamie goes to sleep on the sunday night with her phone clasped in her hand and a frown on her face, annoyed at herself for being disappointed that nothing else had happened between them. 

Had she scared him off with the age talk? Was it too solid a reminder as to the gap between them? How did _she_ really feel about it?

Jamie isn’t certain. 

On monday morning, she can’t help but stare at Mr O as he takes the register. _Thirty-four,_ rings in her head, a big number hovering over him as he calls out names. As long as she’d lived again, and an extra two years… it was a little difficult to comprehend. He didn’t _seem_ like a person that old. And yet he was an adult before Jamie was born. What had he done with all those years? She knows so little about him, really. He must have his own house - she’s seen his car. She wonders if he’s had many girlfriends (or boyfriends - she doesn’t like to presume) She supposes he’s old enough, even, to have been married. And _that_ was an alarming thought in itself… 

“Jamie?”

His voice accompanies an elbow from Yaz in her side, and she gives herself a shake, realising that he’d called her name out twice and she hadn’t responded. 

“Uh - here! Sorry sir,” she quickly says. 

“I know it’s a monday morning, but perhaps we should try and make sure we’re awake before school in future, hm?” He chides her with an unamused eyebrow raised, and Jamie’s face flushes scarlet as some of her peers snigger. 

“Yes sir,” she hastily answers, and swears his dark eyes hold hers for a moment (was that a twinkle in them? Or was she just imagining things?) before he goes back to calling the rest of the names. 

He has his things packed up and ready and bids them all a good day before striding out of class towards his own lessons when the bell rings. Jamie pushes back her chair, stuffing her timetable into her bag. 

“Ugh, double maths on monday morning should be illegal,” Yaz complains from next to her. 

“Yeah, don’t envy you there,” she chuckles. “Hey did you know Mr O is thirty-four?”

“Mr O?” Yaz frowns as she shoves her books into her bag. “Our tutor?”

“Yeah. I thought he was younger. Doesn’t he look younger?”

Yaz shrugs. “Never really thought about it. How do you know, anyway?”

“Oh - umm… he mentioned it in class last week.” 

“Oh right. Hey have you done the English assignment yet?”

“Huh?” 

“The one that’s due Thursday?”

“We have an assignment due Thursday?”

“ _Yes,_ bloody hell Jamie. I don’t know how you pass every class - and always end up with better grades than me,” she grumbles as they wander out of the room together. 

She shrugs. “I’m good in exams,” she says. “Also I’m really smart.”

Yaz snorts. “Yeah, and modest. But you’ve been really distracted lately… everything okay?”

Jamie can feel her friends eyes on her and avoids them carefully. “I’m fine! Right as rain. Just, you know, busy. The extra classes and stuff - there’s a lot of work for A level science…”

“Oh right yeah. I keep forgetting you’re doing that now. If it’s too much work you should talk to Mr O - I’m sure he could help you -“ 

“No,” she says hastily. “No, it’s fine. I’m fine. I’m good! I like work.”

“Yeah when you do it,” Yaz snorts. “I’m going this way,” she nods down the left corridor. “English! Thursday!” She reminds her as she walks backwards towards her class. 

“I got it,” Jamie rolls her eyes. “See you at lunch.” 

\--

Things are normal that week at school - and the next. Alarmingly normal. Mr. O seems even less interested in her than usual. He cancels a tutoring session three times in a row, and he sends her one word answers to her texts. 

So she throws herself into her studies like she always has when she's worried. She's still beating her head against that one horrible novel, and it's simpler to stay after school camped out in the library and read. 

She's the only one in the library after school - Ian, the librarian, has always trusted her to keep out of trouble when she's on her own. For all the mischief she sometimes gets up to in other classes, she's always held a deep respect for the books. 

The whole building feels empty and silent - she can faintly make out the sound of the chess club, way off in the distance, but otherwise it's just her. She keeps reading her book, and maybe she's trying so hard sot hat she doesn't have to think about... well, everything with Mr. O. 

_Does he like me? Does he not?_ She drums her fingers on the table and she frowns down at her book.

And then she jumps, because there's a hand on her shoulder, and it's only the old instinct of _I'm in a library_ that keeps her from yelping out loud. 

"Hello, Jamie," says Mr. O, and he's standing right over her. He's wearing a hoodie and has his bag over his shoulder. "Studying late?"

"Yeah," she says, looking up at him. At this angle, her eyes are level with his belly, and if she glances down she'd be staring at his crotch. She's not going to do that, though, and she looks him in the face, aware her cheeks are turning red. "There's less distractions here, so I figured I'd try to take a crack."

"I see that Mr. Ian trusts you here on your own," says Mr. O, and he sounds impressed. 

"Yeah," Jamie says, and she shifts, pressing her thighs together, her toes curling in her shoes. "I, uh." She's got her shirt buttoned up, but he can probably catch a glimpse of her collarbones. Can he see her nipples getting hard? _Are_ her nipples getting hard? "He says he trusts me not to do anything stupid."

"You are a good kid," Mr. O says, and rests a hand on the back of her neck. "As long as there aren't any volatile chemicals involved." 

His hand is very warm and very heavy. "That was Ace's fault," Jamie protests. "I didn't mean for it to explode like that."

"The problem is that the two of you goad each other on," Mr. O says, and his hand is moving down, towards the front of her shirt. When the tips of his fingers brush over the swell of her breast through the thin cotton of her bra, she jumps, shoving his hand way. 

"Sir," Jamie hisses, her eyes darting around, "we're _at school_." 

"There's nobody around," he says, as his hand moves lower, to cup her breast. She's never been touched there like this before, apart from an awkward make out session with Romana, where there had been some equally awkward groping. His palm is very warm, and her nipple is so hard that it almost hurts when he shifts his palm, to run his thumb over it. 

"If we get caught," she says, breathless, and she wraps her hand around his wrist and tugs, "it'd be bad."

"You don't need to worry about that," he says, his tone soothing, and now his other hand is coming into play, cupping and kneading her breast, his thumb circling her nipple. She bites her lip, the heat building inside of her making her begin to pant. "I can feel your heart beating," he says, and his voice is very quiet, his breath stirring the little hairs around her ear.

"This is a bad idea," she says, tugging on his wrist. "Please."

He makes a disappointed noise, but he pulls his hand out of her shirt. "I thought you'd be interested," he says, and he sounds genuinely sad. "I suppose some texting one time doesn't mean you're actually mature enough -"

"I'm plenty mature," she says, and she stands up, so that she's looking him in the face. She’s not that much shorter than him, and she forgets that sometimes. He looms so _big_ in her head, as a teacher and someone so much older than she is. 

"I don't think someone mature would be so worried," he says. "Unless you're not ready for anything -"

She doesn't let him finish the sentence. She presses herself against him, her achingly hard nipples pressing into his chest through the thin bra, her school shirt, pressing against his chest through his sweater. She turns her face up, and she presses her mouth against his in a clumsy, awkward kiss. 

He makes a surprised noise, but he pulls her closer, one hand cupped around the back of her head, the other one resting on her lower back. His skin is so _warm_ against her own, and his heart is beating just as fast. She kisses him, and his stubble is rough against her cheeks. 

He pulls back, staring at her with dark eyes. "You think you're mature?" His tone is lightly teasing, and his eyes are sparkling. He licks his lips, and she follows the movement of his tongue, still trembling. 

"Definitely," she says, because she wants him to know just how mature she is, because she wants _something_ , and she doesn't want him to stop looking at her, doesn't want him to stop texting her. She brings a hand down to feel the thing that's pressing into her thigh, and he hisses through his teeth. 

"Are you sure?" He's got an eyebrow up, and she's flushing harder. His hand is cupping her cheek, and his thumb is resting on her lower lip. He shivers visibly when she takes it into her mouth, sucking on it, and she _likes_ that, likes the way she's having an impact on him. It makes her wetter between the legs, her clit throbbing desperately. 

"I wouldn't offer it if I wasn't," she says, which is a blatant lie, but he doesn't have to know that. 

"Well," he says, "I've never been one to refuse an offer." He pulls his thumb out of her mouth, and it's damp against her jaw. He strokes along her cheekbone, and she shivers, goose pimples breaking out along her arms, making her nipples tighter. "Let's just go someplace a little less... conspicuous." 

-*-

“Less conspicuous” turns out to mean the reference section, where all the old math books are. Nobody ever comes around here, and it’s dim, and smells faintly of dust. He kisses her, his hands running along her sides, and then he breaks the kiss, leaning against a shelf and pressing down on her shoulder. 

She gets the message, although her hands are shaking so hard that she has trouble unbuttoning his trousers. She’s never… seen a penis in person, apart from occasionally walking in on her brothers in various states of undress. And there’s her teacher’s cock, right in front of her face. 

It’s so _big_ , bigger than it had looked in the pictures he’d sent her, and she looks up at him, their eyes meeting. He licks his lips, and his cock twitches. “You look… so good,” he breathes. and his fingers card through her hair, tangling in it. “I’ve thought about this so much.” 

_He’s thought about me like this_ , she thinks giddily, and then she leans forward and cautiously takes the head into her mouth. She’s read about this - in the book that he gave her, even - but it’s… it’s not what she expects.

The stuff dripping out of the tip doesn’t taste like anything especially. It’s a little bit salty on her tongue, and he hisses when her tongue clumsily presses against the tip.

“How deep can you take it?” His voice is low. “I want to see.” His fingers tighten in her hair. “Deep breath.”

She takes a deep breath through her nose, and then he’s pushing it… deeper. Her mouth is being forced further open, and the length of him is pushed into her mouth, and then he’s hitting the back of her throat. She gags, and it’s hard to breathe, but he gasps, and his hand is like a weight on top of her head. 

“You feel so good, fuck, Jamie,” he says, breathless. 

_I’ve never heard him swear before_ , she thinks, and she tries to suck, as his hips push his cock a little deeper into her throat, then out again. It’s slick as it passes over her bottom lip, and she sucks it climsuly, the wet sounds filling the whole of the small area. He pushes it all the way in at one point, and her nose is pressed into his belly. He’s got hair on it, and that’s tickling her nose, and she wants to scratch her nose, but she’s clutching at his hips, as he grunts over her.

“You’re so good at this, Jamie, it’s _perfect_ ,” he groans out. “Your mouth… _fuck_!” He’s speeding up, and she’s not doing much - he’s got his hand on the back of her head, and his cock is moving in and out of her, pressing against the back of her throat. 

_I don’t want to throw up_ , Jamie thinks dazedly, _but I’m going to if he keeps jamming it down my throat like this._ She can smell him, musky, a little bit like whatever he uses to clean his clothes, whatever soap he uses. His cock is so _hot_ on her tongue, so heavy, and it’s in her throat, it’s filling her up. She’s taking shallow little breaths through her nose, and she’s still sucking, her head bobbing and her throat making wet noises.

Time goes away for a little bit - she’s still not doing much _for_ him, so she’s not sure if he’s enjoying her much more than a wet, hot place to put his cock. She’ll glance up at him sometimes, and see him staring intently up at her, and that’s… uncomfortable. It makes her stomach twist up, and her mouth is watering, her eyes leaking tears. Even her nose is running, and she doesn’t know if she’s ever felt so _gross_ before. 

She’s not sure if she’s turned on or disgusted, but the noises he’s making are making her cunt throb, and she can’t seem to stop whimpering around it. 

“Such a good little - _fuck_!” 

The thing in her mouth pulses, and then there’s… wetness down her throat, bitter and salty, and she pulls away, coughing. Some of it has gone down her throat, but a lot of it has pooled out of her mouth, dripping down her chin. It’s soaking into her shirt, and her eyes are streaming as she wheezes. It doesn’t taste good - it’s disgusting, and she’s still coughing as he crouches down next to her and _kisses_ her, licking his come out of her mouth, one hand groping her breast. 

“Aren’t you a good little cocksucker,” he croons, and she’s not sure if that’s a compliment or not, but she’s so wet that the emptiness almost _hurts_ , and she doesn’t know what to do with that, but she sighs when he pinches her nipple, and she kisses him clumsily, her tongue lapping at his mouth. “I should return the favor, how about -”

He’s cut off by the sound of the library door. “Jamie?” That’s Mr. Ian, and Jamie’s heart drops into her stomach. 

Mr. O is up on his feet, and he’s unzipping his hoodie with one hand and tucking his cock back into his trousers with the other. He drapes his hoodie over her, shoulders, and she wraps it around herself, still sitting on the floor.

“Sorry about that, Ian,” Mr. O calls. “She asked me to get a book off a high shelf.’

“Not a problem,” Mr. Ian calls back. “I’m going to be closing up soon, Jamie.”

“I’ll be out in a sec,” Jamie calls, and her voice is rough. She clears her throat, and she stands up on shaking legs.

“I”ll take your shirt,” says Mr. O, and his fingers are already on her shirt buttons. “Your mum might wonder why you’ve got spunk all over it.”

“Oh,” says Jamie. The thought hadn’t occurred to her. Would her mum even realize it was spunk? 

“I’ll return the favor,” he tells her, as he pulls the shirt off and stuff it into her bag. “Zip the hoodie up, you can give it back to me later.” 

“Thanks,” she says, and her voice is still rough. She zips the hoodie up, and the fleece lining it is soft against her bare belly and arms. 

“You need to drink some water,” he says, and he grins at her, clearly delighted. Maybe he’s remembering their text conversation. “I’m gonna need to head off. See you in class tomorrow?” He smiles at her, all white teeth and dark eyes, and she blushes.

“Can I text you later?” She hates how small her voice is. 

He smiles at her. “I look forward to it,” he tells her, and he pats her on the shoulder before he leaves. 

-*-


	6. Chapter 6

She doesn’t want to seem too needy, so Jamie forces herself not to text him as soon as she gets home. Her phone sits on her little desk next to her hand as she does her homework, and she hates that she keeps glancing at it, wondering ( _ hoping _ foolishly) if he would maybe text  _ her… _

He doesn’t. 

She feels… strangely empty after what took place between them in the library. It had all… ended so abruptly. And logically, she knows that’s just because Mr Ian had come back, and Jamie is well aware how bad anyone finding out what they’d done would be. Mr O had no choice but to hurry off. - And he had given her his hoodie, hadn’t he? And taken her shirt… to wash? That was thoughtful. A little warmth fills her cold belly, and she pulls the sleeve over her left hand, lifting it to her face and breathing in the scent of it as she tries to concentrate on her work. 

It smells faintly like aftershave and mint -  _ him.  _ She likes it, the musky scent of him wrapped around her, the thought that he’d worn this very garment just earlier today, and now it was on her. 

She types out a message.  _ Thanks for the hoodie. It’s really comfy. _ Then she stares at it on her phone screen for five minutes before deleting it without sending. 

The words felt silly, and childish, and she was neither of those things. It also felt like… rather a trivial thing to say, directly after what had passed between them.  _ After his cock has been in your mouth,  _ her brain tells her. What  _ did  _ one say to someone after that? 

She can still feel the shape of him inside her, pressing against her tongue, her lips stretched wide. Her throat was a little sore and her voice was still rough when she’d muttered a greeting to her parents after she got in before darting upstairs. The experience had been… different to what she’d expected. Not that she’d thought about doing  _ that _ in particular much before. It’s just when she  _ had _ , she’d just imagined it would be a bit… nicer? 

She has dinner, finishes her homework and showers, and there is still no text on her phone. She flops into bed and curls on her side, his hoodie in a pile on the floor where she’d stripped it off before her shower. On an impulse, she grabs it, bundling it up under the covers with her and cuddling it like a teddy, burying her nose in the soft material to inhale his scent. Her cheeks flush a bit when she thinks about how ridiculous she’s being. Her fingers itch to message him, but Jamie didn’t want to seem too needy and clingy… she knew he already doubted her maturity. What if he thought she was just a silly girl simpering after him? And besides… she still doesn’t know what to say.

Jamie must end up falling asleep while she’s still debating with herself, because the next thing she knows, her mum is yelling her name and sunlight is streaming in through her blinds. She blearily blinks at her phone screen, and her stomach drops when she sees the time and realises she’d fallen asleep before she set her alarm. She scrambles out of bed, and Mr O’s hoodie topples to the floor, and she looks at it, biting her lip a moment before picking it up and shoving it back under the duvet. She could just tell him she forgot it today. She  _ would _ give it back to him, something just made her want to keep it a bit longer. The fact that she had something of  _ his _ giving her a little thrill. 

She takes too long getting ready, and is running really late by the time she thunders down stairs, grabbing some toast on the way and yelling out a goodbye as she shoves her feet in her shoes and hurries out the door. The extra few minutes have cost her to miss the bus - she just sees it disappear around the corner as she gets to the bus stop and she groans, plopping down onto the bench to wait for the next one, now certain she was going to be very late for school. 

She misses registration, which means she has to go to the main office to sign in, and she’s twenty minutes late for her first class as well - which just happens to be science. With Mr O. 

Head ducked, she tries to slip into the lab unnoticed, but she has no such luck when Mr O turns to write something on the board in the middle of speaking, and notices her sneaking past. 

“Miss Smith,” he snaps. “Nice of you to join us.”

“Sorry sir - I missed the bus.”

“And were you planning on sneaking into my class in the hopes I wouldn’t notice without even an apology?”

“I -”

“You know the drill, you’re late for my lessons, you knock and wait outside until I tell you you can come in. What if we’d been in the middle of using chemicals you needed protective eyewear for!?” Shit - was he really annoyed? He looked it. 

“Um… sorry?”

He nods at the door with eyebrows raised pointedly. “Out!”

Ducking her head, Jamie scuttles for the door, hurrying out of his classroom. She stands there outside, a little startled by his anger. Was he really mad that she was late? Or… or was this to do with something else? Was he upset she hadn’t texted him? … Did he regret what they’d done?

“I’m still waiting, Miss Smith,” comes his voice from inside the class, and almost dropping her things, Jamie hastily knocks on the door. “Enter,” he calls out, and she opens the door and steps inside. The class is dead quiet, and everyone is looking at her. She fidgets, wondering what the point of this whole charade was. 

“Umm… sorry I’m late sir?” She tries. 

“I should think so too,” he replies, then points at a free bench towards the back. “Detention after school. Sit.”

Jamie nearly balks, and is frozen there for a few seconds before she gives herself a shake and scuttles off to sit down. 

_ Detention!?  _ Seriously? He was giving her detention for missing the bus!?

The class passes quickly, Mr O doesn’t so much as glance in her direction once, and Jamie shoves her things hastily into her bag when the bell rings, eager to hurry away from his dark eyes and her own confusion. 

“Miss Smith? A word please.”

_ No such luck _ . Jamie heads slowly to his desk, and waits with her arms folded as the rest of the class file out. The door closes behind them, and he finally lifts his head from his papers to look at her. She frowns. 

“Detention for missing the bus?” She knows she must sound petulant, but she’s stung by the way he’s acting towards her. Especially after -

“I’m taking detention tonight,” he informs her, and he’s leaning back in his chair and -  _ oh _ . He’s smiling. The irritation draining from her, Jamie unfolds her arms. 

“...Oh.  _ Oh _ . Do you mean -”

“You never texted,” he cuts her off. “Last night.”

“Oh yeah… sorry. I meant to but - I fell asleep.”

“And still managed to wake up late enough to miss the bus?”

_ He’s teasing her, _ she realises, and she rolls her eyes with a huff. “Alright.” She bites her lip. “I thought you were really mad at me this morning.”

“Well you missed registration. And the first half hour of my lesson.”

“Twenty minutes,” she mumbles. 

“I half thought you weren’t coming in.” He pauses, waits for her to catch his eyes before he continues. “I was worried.”

Jamie’s lips part.  _ Worried? _ Did he really think - 

Oh. She was stupid.  _ An idiot _ \- ridiculous not to realise that after what had taken place between them perhaps she wouldn’t be the only one feeling a little insecure. Suddenly, she sees how it must have looked from his point of view. They do  _ that _ , she promises to text him and doesn’t and then she doesn’t show up for his classes the next morning. Jamie bites her lip, guilt flooding through her. 

“I’m sorry,” she says quickly. “I didn’t think - I didn’t do it on purpose, I promise.”

“And… you don’t have any regrets? About…” his eyes flicker to her mouth and he quirks an eyebrow. 

“No! No, of course not. It was - it was good. I liked it.”

The eyebrow raises higher, and a small smirk comes to his lips. “You did?”

“Yes,” she nods. It wasn’t really a  _ lie _ … she wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about the actual act of it yet (her throat still hurt a little when she thought about it) but… she liked that  _ something _ had happened. She liked that she’d got to make him come. That counted as liking it, right? 

Mr O glances towards the door, ensuring nobody was looking through the little glass pane at the top before he pushes his chair back from his desk and reaches out, snagging Jamie’s hand and tugging her close so her thighs bump into his knees. 

“You liked it, huh?” He says, and his hands are sliding over her, up across her thighs to grasp her bottom, squeezing beneath her skirt and she flushes, wishing she’d worn better underwear than the plain cotton ones he now had two handfuls of. Something lacy, perhaps. Did she have anything Lacy? She should go shopping.

Releasing he’s waiting for an answer, she hastily gives herself a little shake. “Yes,” she breathes again. He  _ tugs _ , and she loses balance, toppling down with a squeak to land awkwardly on his lap. He wraps one strong arm around her, dipping his head to bury his nose in her neck as the other slides around to the front of her panties, and he cups her through them. 

“Liked having my cock in your hot little mouth, hm?”

She lets out a shaky exhale, and she’s getting wet, alarmingly quickly. Her teeth sink into her bottom lip as she nods. 

“You were  _ so good _ at it too,” he croons in her ear as he rubs her through her underwear. 

“I - I was?”

“ _ Yess _ ,” he sighs. 

They both jump when the second bell rings, and Mr O withdraws his hand from beneath her skirt, and pushes her gently but firmly up off his lap. 

“Run along now then,” he tells her, and gives her a pat on the behind, shooting her a devilish smirk. “I’ll see you in detention after school.”

Jamie hurries to her next class with a pounding heart and dampness in her underwear, anticipation curling in her belly. 

-*-

She's squirming through all her classes. Her leg jiggles, and three different teachers call her out for being inattentive. 

Yaz is giving her sidelong looks, but she ignores them, or tries to talk about other things. 

"You've been a proper space cadet lately," Yaz says, after Ms. Windsor scolds her. "Everything alright?"

"Yeah," Jamie says. She's hit with the sense memory of Mr. O's belly against her nose - smooth, warm skin, his cock so heavy on her tongue, her jaw aching, her chin slimy with drool. 

She flushes, but Yaz is looking back down at her own exercise book again, and Jamie gives a quiet little sigh of relief. 

-*-

Detention arrives, and she greets it with some mix of excitement and dread. 

_ What if he wants me to suck him again? What if he wants to fuck me this time? _ She rocks on her heels as she watches his other students file out, chattering amongst themselves. He’s behind his desk, doing something or other with papers. 

_ Is he going to fuck me today? _ She bites her lip, lingering in the doorway. Did she want him to?  _ Why didn’t I wear anything nice today? I should probably get into the habit of doing that. _

“Miss Smith,” Mr. O says, and he looks over the papers at her, “are you going to stand there, or are you going to come serve your detention?” He has an eyebrow up, and his eyes are sweeping her up and down. They meet hers on the word “serve,” and a rush of heat goes through her. 

Jamie flushes, looks down at her feet, up at him. “Sorry,” she says, in a quiet voice, then “sorry,” a little louder. 

“You’re blocking the way,” says a voice behind Jamie, and she looks over her shoulder. 

Adric is standing there, looking as sulky and cranky as he always does. “What are you in for?” He asks, elbowing past. 

“When you put it like that it sounds like you’re in prison,” says Martha, coming up behind him.

“What are  _ you  _ doing here?” Jamie doesn’t mean to sound so surprised, but it pops out of her mouth before her brain can catch up with it. Martha doesn’t get detention. Martha’s one of the best students in the whole school. 

“I got into an argument with a teacher,” Martha says, resting her elbows on the desk in front of her. “He was wrong, but I got in trouble anyway.”

“Why are you  _ here _ ,” Mr. O asks, and he looks faintly flustered. 

“Killian,” says Ms. Noble (and she is always  _ Ms _ . Noble, she's made a point of that), “I’m really sorry, but my dad called. He says there’s some emergency at home. D’you mind watching this lot?”

Jamie blinks. Has she ever actually heard Mr. O’s first name?  _ Killian _ ? 

She realises how odd that is - that his cock had been in her mouth and she didn’t even know his first name. 

Mr. O looks annoyed for a moment, and then his face breaks into a familiar easy grin. “Of course,” he says, then; “Jamie, stop dawdling in the doorway like that.”

She'd been half hoping he’d dismiss her, since it isn’t like they’d be able to… do anything. No such luck.

Jamie comes into the room, and she sighs as she sits down, reaching into her bag. She can, at the very least, try to make some headway on the hated novel. She still isn’t sure if she is disappointed or relieved that it wasn’t just the two of them. She doesn't want to look too closely at that.

An hour passes fairly swiftly, and when five thirty comes around, Mr O dismisses them all and stands, packing his things away into his shoulder bag. Her peers practically race to leave, which makes it easier for Jamie to dither, pretending to drop her book and papers and waving Martha off when she offers to help pick it all up.

A larger hand covers her own where she’s crouched on the floor, and when she looks up Mr O is handing her book to her with a smile and they’re all alone.

“Thanks,” she mutters. 

“Do you have a lift home?” He says as they both stand and start walking towards the door.

“Oh - nah. I get the bus.”

“But it’s dark out.”

She shrugs. “It’s fine. Don’t mind the dark.”

“Still. It’s not very safe. A pretty young thing like you all alone on public transport in the dark.”

Jamie throws him an amused look. “I’m fine Mr O,” she chuckles. 

“You may very well be, but I’d never forgive myself if something happened because I’d made you stay late,” he replies as he holds the door for her.

“What are you…”

“I’ll drive you home.” He gives her a grin that flashes her the white of his teeth. 

“Oh - you don’t have to do that -“

“It’s no bother. You live over by the park right? I’m going that way anyway, meeting a couple of mates at a pub on the high street.”

“Oh,” she replies, “Um… okay then. If you’re sure? Thanks.” She wonders for a moment how he knows where she lives - then remembers that she’s in his class, and all her details are on file. It wasn’t weird that he’d memorised that, right?”

“Of course. My car’s this way.”

They walk swiftly to Mr O’s car, parked round the back of the science block. There’s nobody else around, the car park mostly empty by this time, and Jamie supposed that’s a good thing. It wouldn’t do to be seen getting into a teacher's car, after all, would it? 

When she slides into the front seat and shuts the door it smells like car leather and Mr O, and it’s suddenly very quiet when he sits in next to her and shuts his own door shuts with a soft thud. She puts her belt on and rubs her hands against the cold.

“Chilly?”

“A little,” she replies.

“It’ll warm up in a sec,” he says as he starts the engine. “I think there’s a sweatshirt in the back if you wanna put something over you.”

“I’m fine - thanks,” she smiles, putting her hands up to the air vents blowing out warmth. He switches the radio on low and pulls out of the school car park, and Jamie tries not to be so thrilled about the fact that she was in a teacher’s  _ car. _ Mr O’s car, to be precise. 

He leans over her as he drives, popping open the glove box and muttering an apology as he rummages inside.

“Oh - damn it,” he says, slamming it shut.

“What’s wrong?”

He sighs, and puts on his indicator, waiting until it’s clear to pull off the road and start to turn round.

“Forgot my wallet. It’s at home in my flat, I’ll have to stop by since it’s the other way. You don’t mind do you?”

“Oh - no, course not.”

“Thanks,” he throws her a smile as he starts speeding down the road in the opposite direction, and then he drops a hand to her thigh.

Jamie bites her lip as she sits in his car next to him, his large hand warm on her thigh. Something about this all felt very… adult, and she tries not to grin like a giddy schoolgirl.

When Mr O pulls up outside what she assumes is his apartment complex, he shuts the engine off and grabs his phone. 

“You’re welcome to come in,” he tells her easily as he unclips his belt. “I won’t be long but you don’t need to wait in the cold car.”

“Oh - it’s okay I’m fine -“

“Don’t be silly. Come on.”

A little startled, Jamie takes her belt off and gets out of his car, trailing after him towards the building.

_ He’s letting me see his place?  _ She thinks, and it makes her feel a little giddy again as she skips to keep up with his long strides. 

They go up some stairs and down a short hallway, then he’s sticking his key into a lock and pushing open a door, motioning her inside.

“Oh,” she says as she walks in. “It’s… really nice…”

He chuckles, flicking on a light. “You sound surprised.”

“No, I’m not,” she assures him quickly. “I’ve just never been to a flat like this. It’s really spacious.”

“It’s alright,” he shrugs, and she realises he’s taking his coat off. Why was he taking his coat off - wasn’t he just grabbing his wallet? “Serves me fine. Make yourself at home,” he tells her, wandering over to the little kitchen area. “Drink?”

“Umm… no I’m fine - didn’t you have somewhere to be?”

“Yeah but we’re good for a bit,” he answers as he starts to rummage in his cupboards.

Surprised, but unable to resist the opportunity of being in Mr O’s  _ flat _ , Jamie pokes around, wandering round the living area as he clatters about. The place isn’t particularly tidy - a jumper strewn over a chair here, shoes kicked off there, some magazines laying around, empty glasses and mugs… but it’s only surface clutter. There isn’t a lot underneath that speaks of  _ him _ . She doesn’t know what she’d expected? Photos on the walls? Personal items laying around? It was just sort of… empty.

There’s an open door off to the side, and Jamie peeks over into it, just seeing the corner of a bed in sight. Curiosity burns, and she itches go poke her head round the door - but that would be rude. She wanders across to the other side of the living space instead, in pretence of scrutinising the bookshelf there, but really it’s so she can see a bit better into his bedroom. The duvet on his bed is rumpled, like he hadn’t bothered to make it when he’d rolled out of it, and there’s some clothes scattered on the floor. His sheets are dark coloured and there’s - oh god - is that… is that her  _ shirt  _ in his bed!? 

“I don’t spend much time here really,” he says as he wanders over, making her jump and spin to face him with wide eyes. She considers asking about her shirt but then he might be embarrassed… and Jamie’s mind is already running away with all the reasons it might be in his _ bed _ , and a thrill is bubbling inside her. She pastes a smile on her face instead, taking note of how he holds a can of beer in each hand. He offers one to her and she blinks at it, a bit surprised.

“Oh - I’m okay, thanks.”

“Right, a bit too young to drink probably,” he chuckles, setting the can down and taking a slurp from his own, and she’s just about to protest when he puts that one down on the coffee table too, and walks over to her, sliding a hand round her waist and all her thoughts fly out the window.

“Been waiting to get you alone all day,” he growls lowly, tugging her close, and Jamie bites her lip as she looks up at him.

“Yeah?”

“Mhmm,” he hums, and leans down to kiss her. 

She can’t think about much else then, except his mouth slanting against hers and his stubble on her chin. His tongue presses between her lips, hot and insistent, and Jamie opens her mouth to let him kiss her deeply, whining quietly somewhere in the back of her throat as more of that heated wetness rushes between her legs.

She doesn’t realise he’s walking her backwards until her legs hit the sofa, and she topples down with a squeak, him over her. 

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he tells her as he leans up on one hand, brushing her hair from her face with the other.

“You really think so?”

“Yeah,” he chuckles, like her doubting him is amusing. 

“I think - think you’re pretty gorgeous too,” she says shyly, breath hitching as he kisses down her neck. He shifts, so he’s kneeling between her legs, and Jamie lets out a gasp as he rolls his hips into her, letting her feel the hardness of his cock in his trousers.

He was hard already? Just from kissing? Was that normal?

He is so big and heavy on top of her, and she can do nothing but lay back against the sofa and spread her legs to accommodate him, bottom lip caught between her teeth as he ruts against her.

“So good,” he breathes, hand stroking her thigh from hip to knee, hooking beneath it and hitching her leg up higher against his hip. The material of his trousers is rough against her inner thighs, and she’s growing achingly wet between her legs, certain she must be soaking through the thin material of her cotton panties.

Mr O gropes her small breast, squeezing beneath her shirt just like before, and Jamie arches into the touch, her chest rising and falling rapidly as he rocks into her.

“You feel so good - let me just -“ he pauses, fumbling, and her eyes widen when she sees him shove his trousers down around his hips. Boxers too - and Jamie is afforded only a glimpse at his hard, engorged length before his hips are sinking down against her again and -  _ oh _ he’s rutting into her, his bare cock right up against the cotton of her underwear. 

“Mr O,” the name tumbles breathlessly from her lips as a vague sense of panic starts to rise inside her. Did he expect to go all the way? Jamie wasn’t sure if she was ready for that… this was all happening so fast.

“Yeah baby?”

“I -“ her heart melts a little at the name and she bites down on her lip, reluctant to upset him. He liked her -  _ really _ liked her - he called her baby and looked at her and touched her like she was the most desirable thing in the world and Jamie didn’t want that to stop. She just…

His movements pause and he pushes himself up, braced over her on his hands gazing down into her face. “What is it?”

“Um,” she avoids his eyes, squirming a little. “It’s nothing, I just…”

“Does it not feel good?”

“No! It does!” She quickly amends. “I just… I've never actually…”

He tilts his head, dark eyes boring into her own. She averts her gaze again, cheeks flushing.

“You’re a virgin?”

“Um. Yeah.”

“It’s okay. I gathered,” he chuckles softly, and Jamie feels embarrassment flood through her. 

“It was obvious?”

“Of course it was love - it’s alright.”

She frowns as he brushes a strand of hair from her face. She doesn’t want him to think of her that way - she’s not a child. Just because she hasn’t had sex before doesn’t mean she doesn’t know what to do. 

Swallowing, she wriggles a hand down between them, and revels in the way his eyes go wide and his mouth drops open when she brushes her fingers over his silky hard cock, before wrapping them carefully around him. 

He is hot and heavy in her hand, and Jamie’s mouth goes dry, wetness pooling between her legs as she thinks of all of  _ that _ going inside her. It’s thicker than she realised from when it was in her mouth - her small fingers can't even touch around him. 

“That’s -  _ yeah _ , like that,” he breathes when she starts to stroke him, squeezing carefully, watching his face intently to gage what’s working. Jamie may be inexperienced, but she’s always prided herself on being a fast learner.

Her teacher shifts his weight onto one hand, slipping the other down to cover her own, guiding her movements.

“Here,” he says, “yeah,  _ good girl…” _

Jamie’s whole body reacts to those words, lust and thrill and pride shooting through her, and she moans, hips raising up of their own accord, bumping clumsily against their hands. 

He grins at her. “Liked that, did you?”

Cheeks pink, she nods, squeezing him a bit in her hand.

He leans down, letting his lips brush against the shell of her ear, just like he had on the bus. “How about you be an even better girl for me and take your shirt off, hm? Let me see those beautiful little tits of yours.”

Jamie suppresses a gasp, nodding, her hands already going to the buttons to yank them undone with shaking fingers. Mr O strokes himself while he watches her, kneeling up and sitting back on his heels between her legs, and Jamie tries not to lose her train of thought as her gaze sweeps over his body, lingering on his cock in his hand.

It is swollen and big, and the end is glistening with something that makes her stomach coil tight and heat flare between her legs.

She shrugs out of the shirt, and arches up on the sofa to unsnap her bra, before shrugging that off too and laying back, panting. 

His eyes are locked onto her chest and his gaze is dark and intense. A pink tongue darts out to wet his lips, and Jamie squirms a little, her nipples hard and tingling in the cool air. 

“Fuck,” Mr O breathes, and his gaze flicks up to hers. “Look at you… you’re perfect.”

Jamie inhales sharply. “I - I am?”

“Gorgeous,” he elaborates, and then he’s leaning down over her again, pressing his cock between her legs, one large hand cupping a breast as his mouth descends on the other. He nips at the underside of it, and she gasps, hand going tentatively to his hair. Then he lifts his eyes to hers and takes her nipple into his mouth, and it’s just about the most erotic thing Jamie has ever seen. 

He’s rocking into her again, cock rubbing up against her through her underwear, and she’s achingly wet and empty, a pressure building there that makes her bore down against him. His mouth moves up, lips peppering lazy kisses over her chest and collarbones, then her neck, his teeth scraping just a little, tongue flicking over her skin. She’s moaning - is that her? Little high pitched whines leaving her lips as she squeezes her eyes shut and tries not to drown in sensations. 

It’s a  _ lot _ . And Jamie feels overwhelmed as much as she’s enjoying it. She’s never done anything even close to this - and she doesn’t know if this means he thinks she’s going to let him take her tonight, but Jamie doesn’t feel ready for that. 

She braces her small hands on his shoulders, pushing gently. 

“Mr - Mr O…”

He grabs her knee, hiking her leg up higher, pressing his cock further into her and she gasps. 

“Mr O - wait!”

“What is it?” He mumbles into her neck. 

“I’m - I don’t know if… if…”

He lifts his head. “Do you want to stop?” He asks as he rubs his cock right up against her clit through her panties. His hand squeezes her breast. 

“I… not - not stop, I just - I don’t think…” She fumbles over her words, and Mr O pauses just like he had before, looking down at her, both of them panting. 

He shifts his hand from her breast to her face, cupping it gently. “Oh baby,” he says, “Did you think I was going to take you tonight?”

“I -” She flushes, her hearts beating fast. “Well - yeah, I just -” She breaks off - he’s  _ laughing _ . Oh god, he’s laughing at her. Did she say something stupid?

“It’s alright,” he says, and runs a thumb over her lips. “I’m not going to take your virginity - I wouldn’t do that.”

Jamie blinks up at him. “You - you wouldn’t?”

“Of course not. You want to save that for someone special, hm? I know that wouldn’t be your teacher.”

“But I…” She trails off, stomach feeling knotted and uncomfortable. He’s stroking her hair now, avoiding her eyes, and she thinks - she thinks maybe there’s a hint of disappointment in his gaze? Something surges in her chest and she clutches at his shirt, shaking her head. 

“You are special,” she utters with a breath. “You’re - I want to. I do. Just - just not now.”

Mr O pauses, and stares down at her. “You do?”   
Jamie nods quickly. “Yes. You’re special to me sir…” 

He chuckles, and leans down to press a kiss to her lips. “It’s probably about time you started calling me Killian.”

“Killian,” she repeats. The name feels heavy on her tongue, like speaking it sends a little thrill through her. 

He kisses her again, one hand cradling her face, his tongue sweeping the insides of her mouth, and Jamie sighs softly into it, relaxing beneath him. He rolls his hips into her and she makes a sound into his mouth. Her body is burning, her nipples pebbled where they brush against Mr O’s shirt, and she’s sweating despite being half naked beneath him. He fumbles down between them, the backs of his knuckles brushing against her cunt through her underwear - and then they’re hooking around it and dragging it aside, and the next time he ruts his hips against her, his cock presses directly against her slick folds. 

She keens, breaking the kiss with a gasp of surprise and her eyes are wide as she looks up at him. 

“It’s okay baby, I won’t go inside,” he tells her. “This is okay, isn’t it?”

Nodding hastily, Jamie licks her lips and lays back, trying to get a grip on the sensations. 

His cock is hot, and slippery with her arousal, and the slick sounds they make as he slides through her labia make pleasure coil in her core. He feels  _ so good _ against her, his hard thick length sliding over her, and Jamie’s fingers flex where she grips his arm, the other still curled tight in the collar of his shirt. 

“That’s it,” he breathes to her as he rocks against her. His hips are thrusting, cock sliding over her, and Jamie’s own hips are moving to meet his rhythm. “Good girl,” he tells her, “you’re doing so good, so perfect…” He breaks off with a groan, dropping his head to her neck, and Jamie can feel the dampness of sweat on his forehead and feels proud at that, and the way his body keeps giving little shudders against her. 

_ That’s her _ .  _ She’s _ making him feel like that. He wants her so much that she can feel his muscles quiver beneath her trembling hand as she runs it tentatively over his back. 

The head of his cock keeps nudging at her clit, and the pressure isn’t quite enough, yet the touch drives her crazy, and she swears she’s never been this wet in her life. 

“You want it don’t you,” he murmurs into her neck, “I can feel how much you want it…”

“I - I do,” Jamie utters, nails digging into his back, knee shifting against his hip. “But -”

“Let me just put it inside you,” he mumbles, lips hot, brushing a kiss to her throat, “So you can see how it feels… just the tip baby…”

Jamie’s stomach flips and she tenses, gripping his back. “I’m… I don’t know, this is -”

He lifts his head. “You had my fingers inside you on the bus. You liked that, didn’t you?” He gives her a lazy grin. “It felt like you did.”

“I did,” she nods, and breaks the gaze. “I just d-don’t think I’m ready…” her breath stutters as he takes himself in hand, rubbing the tip of his penis around her entrance in a circle. Her body clutches at him, cunt contracting emptily, and Jamie gasps quietly and squeezes her eyes shut. Maybe she  _ was _ ready… her body certainly felt like it was. Maybe… maybe Mr O knew better - he  _ did _ know better, she reminds herself. 

She is just bracing herself to open her eyes and agree to what he’s asking, when he pulls back suddenly, easing off the pressure against her, and then he’s kneeling, knees spread between hers, and one hand is pumping up and down over his length rapidly while the other holds her panties aside and Jamie stares enraptured with wide eyes as his mouth falls open and his breath stutters and -

He comes. It happens suddenly, and there’s more than Jamie expected - warm and wet as it splatters against her, coating her clit and her labia in  _ him _ . He’s groaning, his eyes shut, and then he’s slumping forward, hand braced on the sofa beside her, and opening his eyes to gaze down at her. 

Jamie doesn’t know what to say. 

She swallows. “I… I thought you wanted to…?”

He glances up at her, his dark eyes soft. “It’s okay. I can see you weren’t ready.”

_ I’d been going to let you, _ she wants to say, but she doesn’t. Mr O carefully shifts her underwear back into place, and it squelches; she’s wet and warm with a mixture of her fluids and his - and they’re both trapped inside her panties now, all pressed up against her. She can  _ feel him _ . It’s a little uncomfortable - sticky and wet, and she’s still aching inside, a burning emptiness in her core that begs to be filled. 

“Here, let me help you dress,” He’s saying, pulling her to sit up and passing her her bra. 

She feels strangely cold as she puts her bra and shirts back on, and tugs at her skirt. She supposes she’s glad he didn’t push her… she just hadn’t expected it to end so abruptly like that. Perhaps she’d been stupid and inexperienced - she should have jsut let him put it inside her. Maybe then he wouldn’t want her to leave. 

Like he can sense her thoughts, he touches a hand to her face and leans in to kiss her. “Don’t worry about tonight, love,” he murmurs, “You were perfect. You’re just not ready yet and that’s okay.”

She bites her lip, looking down. “I’m… maybe next time we can -” He cuts her off with another kiss, and gives her a smile. 

“Maybe,” he says, then he’s pulling her to her feet. “I’ll drive you home. Is someone there to let you in?”

“Oh… yeah, they think I’m at a friend’s but I’ll just say she wasn’t feeling well, or something…”

“Great,” he says, and then he  _ kisses her on the head _ , and Jamie feels confused and strangely empty as he leads her to the front door, her thighs damp and sticky, his come in her underwear squelching against her as she walks. 

-*-


	7. Chapter 7

When Jamie gets home, she hurries in past her parents, mutters that she isn’t hungry when her mum asks about dinner, and shuts herself in the bathroom. 

She feels… weird, as she strips her clothes off and switches the shower on. Mr O had chatted to her casually in the car on the way home, this and that about the experiment they were doing in class that week, and something about some documentary she hadn’t seen on telly the other night. His hand had been on her thigh again as he drove, but somehow, instead of the thrill it had given her on the way over to his flat it had felt… heavy. Like she daren’t move beneath his grip. 

She thinks it’s regret, that’s churning in her insides and making a mess of her thoughts. She’d disappointed him… and herself. Things could be so different between them now if only she’d let him take her… maybe he’d even have cancelled his plans and let her stay for dinner with him instead. And she wouldn’t be a virgin…

What was she clinging to that for anyway? It’s not like it was something she’d ever given much value to - and now Mr O probably thought she was just some silly kid who was too immature for any kind of proper adult relationship. 

Jamie sniffs, wiping tears crossly from her cheeks with a wet hand as she stands under the hot spray of the shower. 

“Grow up Jamie,” she tells herself, stepping under the water so it goes over her face. 

She has homework, but when she gets out the shower Jamie just scrubs her hair with a towel, gets into her pyjamas and clambers into bed to curl up under the duvet. She feels exhausted and empty, and she stares at Mr O’s hoodie slung over the back of her chair for ten minutes before she scrambles out of bed and grabs it, bundling herself back up under the covers with it clutched close to her.   
She didn’t care if she was being stupid or babyish - nobody was around to see. 

Jamie falls into a fitful sleep with her nose buried in his scent. 

-*-

Jamie is distracted at school the next day. She’d forgotten to do her English, and gets in trouble with the teacher in first period which sets up her irritated mood for the rest of the day. Not that she’d been in a particularly chipper one to start with. Mr O had looked right through her during registration, and though logically she _knows_ it’s just because they were in a class full of her peers, Jamie cannot help the way it makes her stomach twist in an uncomfortable knot. 

She has a tutorial with him right after lunch - he doesn’t actually cancel this time - and she sighs as she makes her way to the little office he’s preoccupying for the sessions, hoping that some quiet time alone with him might quell this… anxious restlessness inside her. 

He calls out for her to enter when she knocks, and she slips into the little room, offering him a smile he doesn’t see due to his head being bent over the desk. 

“Hey,” she says instead, plopping her bag down on the floor and dropping into the chair the other side of his desk.

“Miss Smith,” he greets, glancing up at her over his glasses as he scribbles on a piece of work.

Jamie raises her eyebrows at the formal form of address.

“Miss Smith?” She snorts.

“A moment,” he holds up a finger to silence her, then proceeds to ignore her for a solid minute as he finishes the piece of work he’s marking, and then grabs a set of files out of the drawer by his desk and rifles through them. Jamie fidgets, twiddling her fingers in her lap, a frown etched into her forehead. How could he be so… indifferent when he’d been on top of her - _nearly inside her,_ her brain reminds her - just last night?

Finally, he gives a sigh, and sets down what she assumes is her file. 

“Ms Noble sent a note over,” he says, pulling out a slip of paper.

Jamie blinks. “About me?”

“Hmm,” he comments and he sounds unimpressed. “She says you haven’t handed in any of the last _three_ assignments. And you didn’t even complete the reading this module.” He glances up at her. “Well?”

She frowns, fidgeting in her chair. “Well… I’ve been… busy.”

“Busy?” He frowns. “You are aware that class assignments are mandatory, yes?”

“Yes, I know,” she gives a huff. “I’ve just… I’ve been a bit distracted lately,” she mutters. “I’ll make it all up. And you know I always do fine in the exams anyway -”

“That’s hardly the point,” he says, and tosses down the note to his desk, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms. “If you’re referring to… anything between us being the reason for your ‘distraction’, then perhaps none of this is a good idea.”

“No!” She exclaims, her eyes widening. “No, that’s not -”

Mr O sighs, and rubs a hand over his forehead. “Maybe I’m expecting too much of you. You’re still young and your schoolwork is important. Perhaps you should concentrate on -”

“Is this because of last night?” Jamie blurts out before she can stop herself. 

“Last night?” He frowns. 

“Are you - are you mad that I didn’t - that we didn’t -” she falters, licks her lips and plunges on, “because it’s not that I didn't _want_ to, it’s just -”   
“Jamie,” Mr O cuts her off with a sigh. He removes his glasses, and rubs a hand over his forehead, massaging his brow with his thumb and fingers like she is giving him a headache. “This has nothing to do with last night. I’m still your teacher while we’re in school - or had you forgotten that?” He gives her a reprimanding look, and she frowns. _Like you remembered so very well when you pushed your cock into my mouth in the school library?_ She wants to bite back, but she holds her tongue. 

“I just don’t want your schoolwork to suffer because you can’t handle the pressure of it on top of…” he doesn’t label what they are, or what they’re doing - just waves his hand between them in a vague motion. 

Jamie inhales through her nose, tries to force down the lump in her throat. He was… agitated - by her. She could see that. She was causing him stress and that was the last thing she ever wanted to do. She inhales deeply again, and shoves down all the childish impulses inside her that told her to demand to know what he wanted with her - what they _were_ to each other - whether he really even _liked_ her after all… she pushes it all down, and she forces a smile onto her face. 

“I’ll make up the english work. And I’ll be sure to hand in my assignments on time in future,” she says robotically. “You don’t need to worry about my schoolwork, sir.”

He folds his arms, leaning back in his chair and looking at her a moment. “Okay,” he finally says. “I trust you. I know you’re smart.”

She bites her lip, looking down at her hands in her lap. “Was there… anything else?”  
“No, nothing else. Everything going alright with all your classes? Apart from the english work.”

“It’s all fine.”

“Okay. That’s all then. Run along to your next class.”

Jamie grabs her bag off the floor and stands on legs that feel a little numb. 

“Jamie?” He calls her name before she can reach the door and she turns back to face him. 

“Yes, sir?”

He tilts his head at her, and there’s a sudden twinkle in his eye - the teacher mask dropping off, letting her see the man she knows underneath, and her heart beats a bit faster -

“I’m free all night this evening,” he says, and her stomach flips a bit, “If you wanted to… text me, or anything, I mean. When you’ve done all your homework of course.”

“Of course,” she repeats automatically. 

“If you remember before you fall asleep, that is,” he adds, and his eyes are _definitely_ twinkling now; he’s teasing her. Her lips curl up in a smile on instinct and she huffs, giving a playful roll of her eyes. “That was once and I was really tired.”

“Okay,” he smiles. “I’ll talk to you later then.” And then he winks at her, before dismissing her with a wave of his hand and going back to his papers. 

Jamie takes a moment to pause outside of his door, leaning back against the wall next to it as she takes a deep breath. 

It was… strange, how he could go from being one person to almost another one entirely in the blink of an eye, but she supposes… didn’t he have to do that? He was right - he _was_ still her teacher while they were at school. Jamie supposes she should appreciate that he still seemed to care about her education and _her_ even though they were… whatever they were now. 

She hurries to her afternoon classes feeling her irritation from this morning quelled a little. 

-*-

Just like she’d said she would, Jamie gets all her homework done before she texts Mr O that night. It’s hard - working when her phone is laying innocently on the desk next to her hand, and she nearly caves and texts him earlier - but she remembers his words, and the sternness in his eyes when he’d been reprimanding her earlier, and she doesn’t want to disappoint him again. 

So, she gets everything done first, then rushes through her shower and nightly routine, and clambers into bed early with her phone in her hand and a pounding heart. 

She doesn’t know what to say, and types out a few variations of ‘ _I did all my work like you asked’,_ before deciding it sounded like she was looking for praise for something she should be doing anyway and deleting them all. 

In the end, she settles for _Hi,_ bundled up in bed on her side. It’s cold tonight, and on a whim, Jamie had scooped his hoodie up from the floor that she still had and slipped it on instead of her thin pyjamas. 

_Hi yourself_ , Comes his immediate response. _Work all done now, I hope?_

_Yep. Just got into bed._

_Me too_ , comes the reply. 

She doesn’t know what to say, and chews her lip as she stares at her phone for another minute, desperate to somehow keep the conversation going. _I still have your hoodie btw, it’s really comfy,_ she settles with.

_Are you wearing it right now?_

A little thrill goes through her. _Yes._

 _Anything else?_ It takes a second for her to realise he meant was she _wearing_ anything else. Her cheeks grow warm, and she bites her lip, wondering how she dared to reply.

She’s just in a pair of cotton knickers besides the hoodie, and they are growing alarmingly damp rather rapidly as she texts him. Jamie’s heart is beating fast, and before she can debate with herself, she wriggles them off beneath the duvet, kicking them away and typing out a reply with trembling fingers. _No._

 _Fuck, that’s an image I wouldn’t mind seeing_ , comes the reply, _I bet you look so hot, lying in bed in just my hoodie._

He thought she was hot? A thrill goes through Jamie at that, and on a whim, she throws the duvet aside and holds her phone up over herself, snapping a quick picture. She looks at it, biting her lip before she unzips the hoodie at the top so a slither of her bare skin is visible down to her navel, and takes the picture again. She sends it before she can reconsider, then yanks the duvet back all the way over her head, hiding as she listens for the little ping of a reply. 

She doesn’t have to wait long. It’s a picture in return; his cock, hard and thick in his hand, the duvet kicked down somewhere around his feet in the background and… her _shirt_ lying in bed next to him. She’d spied it there when she was in his flat last night, of course, but the way he’s so _blatant_ about it sends a thrill through her. 

Her phone buzzes again. _You look like a model on a sports magazine_ , he's sent. _You should be stretched out on top of some rich bloke's sports car._

Jamie has seen those types of magazines. _I don't think I have big enough boobs_ , she taps out, then panics as soon as she hits send. Is he gonna think she’s immature for saying "boobs"? Shit. 

_I love your little tits,_ he responds. _I bet I could fit all of one in my mouth._

She bites back a moan, presses her thighs together. She’s trying to think of a response when he texts again. 

_Has anyone ever done that?_ It's such an innocuous question, on its own. Why is she shaking like this? 

I've made out with Rose a few times, she says, then in a moment of bravery adds; _she let me touch her boobs. And Romana felt me up once._

 _That was nice of her_ , comes his response. _I still haven't had a chance to properly get my hands on yours yet._

Another aching, desperate pulse running through her. She presses her thighs together, and she just wants to grind against something now. 

_I'd like for you to_ , she texts him. She tries to find a way to word whatever it is she's got rattling around in her head. _Can I see a picture of your face?_

 _Can we do a video call?_ His response is almost immediate. _It'll be easier to talk that way._

Her heart is beating faster. _I’d have to be quiet_ , she taps out, and her hands are shaking. She wishes she’d worn… what, some makeup? She’s never been one for makeup. Done her hair up? 

_You were pretty quiet the last time I saw you come_ , he texts. 

_Let me get my headphones,_ she says, and she gropes around her end table, finding them, then shoving them into the port. _Okay_ , she sends him, _I’m ready._

 _Good girl_ , he says, and then her phone is ringing, a chipper little jingle that’s playing directly in her ear. She presses the green “accept” button, and then his face is filling up her phone screen. 

“Hello there,” he says, and he sounds so normal, so _pleasant_. It makes her mouth that much drier. 

“Hiya,” she says, and she gives a little wave, then blushes. He must think she’s ridiculous. 

There’s an awkward silence, then; “are you under the duvet?” 

He’s illuminated by a light off to the side, and she’s reminded of those old paintings she’s seen, full of dramatic shadows. The light looks golden, and half of his face is in darkness. 

"Yeah," she says, embarrassed. 

"That's adorable," he says, and he's smiling at her, all eyeteeth and shadows, "but I can barely see you. Pull it down?"

"My parents might hear me," she says, which isn't necessarily true - they sleep on the ground floor, her room is the only only on the tiny top floor, her brothers all sleep like the dead or are off doing whatever it is they do when they're not at home. 

"You'll just have to be quiet then," he says, and she finds herself pushing the duvet off, her hair all mussed from where it was pulled over her head. 

"Is that better?" She shifts, so that she's holding her phone with him looking up at her as she sits up. 

"Much. Now I can see your pretty face." He smiles at her, and his eyes are moving along her face. "I'd like to see the rest of you, though. Can you move the phone a bit?"

"What d'you want to see?" She's too warm in her hoodie all of a sudden, and she wants to shrug out of it, only then she'd be naked and that would be even _more_ awkward. 

"Show me those pretty tits," he says. "Might be the first time I've gotten a chance to properly admire them." She can see movement off camera, and the image on her screen is shaking a bit, as if he's moving his… arm. Oh. _Fuck._

"Well," she says, and she bites her lip, her whole face flushing, then plowing on. "Well, if I'm gonna show you, you should show me."

"That's fair enough," he says, and he sounds amused. "Just give me a sec." He puts his phone down, and there's a rustling sound. She stares at his ceiling, and then he’s picking up the phone again, and... oh wow.

“You’re pretty,” she blurts out, before her brain catches up to her mouth, but he chuckles.

“Not as pretty as you are, but thank you,” he says.

His shoulders are broader than hers, and his chest is covered by dark hair. _What would that feel like, to have against me?_ She presses her thighs together, still staring, and she wants to feel his warm skin against her palms, her cheek. _Would it taste different?_

“I showed you mine,” he says, and there’s a chiding note to his voice.

“Oh, right,” she says, and she clears her throat. “Sorry.” She pushes the hoodie open, revealing some cleavage, then a little further, so that her nipples are bared to the cooler air. They’re already getting hard, and she bites her lip at the tingle of it. 

“Jamie,” Mr. O says, “you need to angle the camera down. I can’t see.”

“Oh,” she squeaks. “Right. Sorry.” She tilts the camera so that the lens is pointing to her bared breasts, and she flushes harder when she hears his breathing speed up. 

"Look at you," he says, and he sounds… amazed. "You're so beautiful, Jamie. How sensitive are your tits?"

"Um," she says, "I'm… I'm not sure?"

"Pinch your nipples for me," he says, and she has to fiddle with the phone, so she can keep him in shot as she pinches one nipple, then twists it. She switches to the other one, and she's biting her lip to keep any embarrassing sounds from slipping out. 

"How does it feel, baby?" His voice is breathless, and the sound of skin moving over skin is getting faster. 

"It's… I like it," she says, her voice hushed. "I like it a lot, it… oh!" She gives another little twist and hears him gasp. 

"How wet are you?" The way he asks makes her tremble. "I love how wet you get, it makes me think of how easy it's going to be when I fuck you, knowing you're so ready for me."

She hisses, shuddering. "I’m gonna… I think I should have put a towel down,” she whispers, because there’s a wet spot forming under her backside, and she squeezes her thighs together.

“When I fuck you in my bed, I won’t make you sleep on the wet spot,” he promises, then; “you’re on the pill, right?” He laughs, suddenly self conscious. “Should’ve asked that last time, huh?” 

She nods, and she flushes at the way it makes her breasts jiggle. “Yeah,” she says. “I get bad, uh…” She trails off. It still feels awkward to discuss periods with her handsome _male_ teacher, even when his eyes keep darting between her nipples and her face. 

“Cramps,” he supplies. 

“Yeah,” she says. “It, uh, it helps.”

“D’you know what else that means, baby?” The muscles of his shoulder are moving, and she watches, transfixed, as he moves faster. “It means I can fuck you bare, and you don’t have to worry about anything. Anything at all.” 

“What about any kinds of infections?” God, she’s nothing but a killjoy right now, isn’t she? Between mentioning periods and STIs, what’s she going to do next, talk about poop?

“You trust me, don’t you?” He smiles at her, his eyes so beautiful and brown and soft, and her heart melts. 

“I do,” she says, and she pinches her nipple again, just to watch his face open up. 

"Go get your dildo and fuck yourself with it for me," he says. 

"I don't… have one," she says, but sure if she's surprised or embarrassed. 

"No?" He sounds surprised. "You're at the age you should. I'll do something about that." He sounded so… casual. 

_Is he offering to buy me a dildo?_ That’s a weird thing to think about. 

“D’you have a hairbrush?” He asks, and then he looks faintly offended when she starts giggling at that. “What?”

“Of course I own a hairbrush,” she says. “Who doesn’t own a _hairbrush_?”

“Some people,” he says, and the offended expression gets stronger. 

“Sorry,” she says. Oh no, what if she’s offended him enough that he wants to stop, or what if -

“Go get your hairbrush for me, there’s a good girl,” he says. 

“One sec,” she says, untangling her headphones and going to grab it off of her dresser top. She doesn’t think she’s ready to give him the whole tour of the room yet. _Yet_. Maybe.

When she sits down, he’s readjusted himself, so that she can see more of his chest and stomach. He’s got more hair there, and she wants to touch it, she wants to rub her face in it, her chest. _What would it feel like, against my nipples? < _ She’s still self conscious of her own body - the puppy fat clinging to her belly and her face, the fact that one of her breasts is bigger than the other, the way her thighs jiggle and the scar from when she had to get her appendix out when she was seven. 

“Let’s see it, then,” he says. 

She holds up her hairbrush, which isn’t anything particularly special - it’s purple, plastic. She looks at it and uses it every day, and has never given much thought to it otherwise. 

“Put it in your mouth for me, sweetheart,” he says, and she remembers the feel of him on her tongue all over again, thick hot, tasting like salt and skin, musky. The plastic is a lot smoother and it doesn’t taste like anything. Just smooth plastic. 

She doesn’t gag on it this time - she can’t get it that far, because the bristles are in the way, but she likes the noises he makes as she slides it in and out, turning her head to the side so he can see the bulge in her cheek, like in the pornos she watches sometimes. 

“Good girl, fuck,” he gasps. “Next time… yeah, tilt your head back. Good girl.” 

She does as instructed, and she seems to get wetter with each grunt and moan that’s sent straight to her ears through the headphones.

 _He wants me, he wants me, he wants me_ , she thinks, as she works the hairbrush in and out of her mouth, and he’s groaning harder. _Will he come just from watching me do this?_

“Fuck yourself with it,” he says, and his breathing is still heavy. “Put it in your cunt for me.” 

“I’ve never… I’ve never put anything in there before,” she said, as she clenched around the emptiness inside of her. 

“You’ve had my fingers,” he says. “Won’t be that much different, would it?” 

“Do you think?” She’s curling her toes, and she’s spreading her thighs a little wider. 

“Definitely,” he breathes. “I want to see that pretty little pussy filled up. Please?” He’s stopped rubbing his cock, and it feels a little bit like he’s staring into her soul. Like she’s in a bubble somewhere, and the little image of him on the other end of the phone is the only other thing that’s _real._

“Don’t laugh at me,” she says, and she’s not sure why she says it, except that she know she’d _die_ if he laughed at her.

“Why would I laugh at you?” He sounds genuinely confused, then; “can you turn the light on?”

“One moment,” she says, and then sehs’ turning the light on, filling the room with yellow, bright light that makes her wince. 

“There we go,” he croons, “now… how about a nice picture of that pretty pussy?” 

She pauses - who’s seen that most intimate part of her, apart from her doctor? Sure, he’s _felt_ it, but what if she looks… weird? What if she has too much hair? Not enough? 

“Jamie?” His slightly concerned voice snaps her out of her reverie.

“Sorry,” she says, and she isn’t sure what she’s apologizing for. 

“It’s alright,” he says. “Why don’t you show me, then?”

Her legs open like a rusted gate, and she moves the camera of her phone over so that he can see between her legs. 

He hisses in a breath, and she bites her lip. “Spread yourself open for me,” he says, “I want to see where my fingers have been.”

 _Fuck_. She has to fumble a bit, when she uses her fingers to open herself. It must be very pink, and she leans heavily on her pillow, spreading her legs wider. 

“You’re so wet for me, baby,” he says, and she can hear his hand on his cock again. “Look at your little clit, it’s so hard for me… be a good girl, I want to see you put that hairbrush in.”

There are a few moments of awkwardness as she scrambles to get the hairbrush, angle the phone properly. She bites her lip to hide any embarrassing noises from slipping out of her mouth, but she grunts when it pushes all the way inside of her. It’s thicker than his fingers, and it’s more _solid._

“Look at that,” he moans, and he’s still humping his fist, she can feel it. She can’t see him, because she’s shifting her position, flat on her back with her feet planted. She spreads her thighs a little wider, and arches her back. She’s clenching around it, and it’s so _big_. “How does that feel, baby?”

She gives a little clench around the handle when he says “baby” and she shivers. “It’s big,” she pants. “It’s… bigger than it looks.”

“It’s smaller than my cock,” he says. “You look so open from it, though. You’re gonna be split open when you take my cock, if you’re this filled from that…” More wet sounds, and moaning, little grunts. 

_When_ , she thinks. “You’re bigger?” She pushes the hairbrush even deeper inside of her, until the bristles are touching her vulva. 

“So much bigger,” he agrees. “Rub your little clit for me, sweetheart, I want to see you squeezing that brush.”

It’s some more awkward finagling - she rubs her clit and holds her phone, but she can’t seem to keep herself quiet. She’s panting, breathing heavily through her nose, rolling her hips forward. 

Sometimes he stops, tells her to fuck herself with it, and the sensation of the smooth plastic moving in and out of her is… weird. Full. in and out, in and out, and then she’s rubbing her clit again, and the intensity of the sensation is enough to make her eyes roll back in her head. 

“Such a good girl for me,” he’s panting. “Come on, baby, I can see that you’re so close. Make yourself come for me, you’re almost there, I want to see your pretty little cunt fluttering around it.”

“I wanna see you come,” she pants, and she’s moved the phone so that she can look up into the picture, and her own face is reflected back at her, awkward, with a halo of blond hair all around it. 

His phone is pushed back enough that she can see the top of his cock, his fist moving, and she can see his chest. He’s rubbing it faster, and the way his fist moves makes her whole body go tense and anxious, her toes curling in her sheets. She comes before he does, a rolling, quaking orgasm that leaves her wrung out and panting as she watches his face while <i>he</i> comes, his cock spurting across his stomach and his mouth falling open. 

It’s a better angle than watching him come from her knees or flat on her back, since she’s not staring up his nose this time. He flops back against his own pillows, and he wrinkles his nose as he wipes his hand on his stomach. “Boys are _messy_ ,” he tells her. ‘How do you feel?”

She lets the hairbrush slip out of her, and she lies there, still trembling. _Am I still a virgin?_ She hasn’t been particularly attached to the idea of her virginity, but it still feels… odd, to have half lost it to her _teacher,_ via video call? 

“Good,” she breathes, as her heart beats faster in her chest. “I… wow. It isn’t like I thought it would be.” 

He chuckles. “Did you ever think about this before?” He’s leaning over, and she watches the long line of his arm as he goes to wipe himself off with a tissue from the bedside table. 

“Not… this kind of thing, exactly,” she says, rolling onto her side, still looking into his face. Her cunt is tender, and she’s still sticky around the thighs. “But… well…” She pauses, and she shivers, then calms down, relaxing into the bed. Her eyes are fluttering shut, and she’s going to need to get up and pee. 

“Did you like it?” He tucks a piece of his own hair behind one ear, and he leans back into his pillows. His face looks sleepy and a little sad, and she wants to kiss his cheeks, wants to rub her face against his and feel all that stubble against her own skin. She wants to rest her head on his chest and listen to his heartbeat. 

“Yeah,” she says. “It’d only be better if it were me and you, instead of… just me.” Does that sound clingy? Or weird?

“It was a little like it was me,” he says, “but I guess we’ll have to hurry up and make it happen, hm?” He smiles at her, sleepy and sweet, and it’s like her heart is being _squeezed_. “I’ll let you go,” he adds, glancing off camera. “It’s getting late.”

“It is,” she agrees, and she yawns. “Talk tomorrow?”

“Definitely,’ he says. “Good night, Jamie. You’re something special, y’know that?” And then he hangs up, and she’s staring at her own reflection on her phone screen. 

She turns her light off, still sticky between the legs, then wraps herself up in a dressing gown and makes her way to the bathroom, rinsing her hairbrush under the tap. She pees, washes her hands, and then she’s lying in bed again, staring up at the dark ceiling. She isn’t sure why she feels so… empty, but she remembers the look that he gave her. 

She holds it close to her, and she’s still remembering it as she falls asleep. 


	8. Chapter 8

Mr O is unresponsive, the next few days. It almost feels like a pattern - she reaches out to him, she gets one word answers. She dares to send him the prelude to a dirty text one night, after he's ignored her at school for the last three days -  _ I'm wearing your hoodie again _ \- and he leaves her on read. Doesn't even bother responding, just leaves it on  _ read _ . 

She is faintly surprised to find that she's mad at him. It hits her, while she's sitting in his class, listening to him drone on and purposefully avoid her eye contact (at least, she thinks he is, although some part of her is whispering she's being irrational). The rage is growing like a hot ball of aluminum under her collarbone, and when she looks down at her hands, she can see that they're shaking. 

She storms out of his room, still carrying her books, and before she's had a chance to consider where she's going, she finds herself back in the library. It's always been her refuge, and the familiar scent of the books is like a welcoming hug. 

"Alright, Jamie?" Mr. Ian smiles at her, and she gives him a wan smile back. 

"Is it okay if I stay here a bit? I need to work on this project some more."

"Go for it," says Mr. Ian. "I'll be in the back cataloging if you need me."

She smiles at him, and then she goes to sit at her favorite table, spreading her stuff all around her. 

A flash of sense memory - Mr. O standing behind her, one hand on her shoulder. She's faintly surprised at the angry tears that are threatening to overflow, and she sniffs as quietly as possible and stares down at her own crabbed handwriting. 

_ You're being an idiot _ , she scolds herself, and she forces herself to concentrate on her notes. 

She's always prided herself in being above that sort of thing - she even managed to keep herself together when Rose had moved away. And yet. 

She huffs put a breath, disturbing her hair, and she sinks deeper into her schoolwork. There's a familiar comfort in it, and she embraces it gladly. 

-*-

"Jamie?" 

She looks up from her notes, some time later. It's dark out, but that doesn't really mean anything- it gets dark so early these days. 

Mr. O is standing there in his coat, bag slung over his shoulder. His hair is slightly ruffled and his expression is open. 

"Mr. O," she says, and she tries to ignore the way her stomach flutters. Her heart is beating a little faster, and her cheeks are turning pink. 

"You're here late," he says. "Aren't your parents worried about you?"

She blinks, glances at the clock. When did it reach six? "No," she says. "They're busy tonight." 

Mum is off with her friends at a hen do, and her dad had hauled her brothers off to… something. She had been a bit vague on the details. 

She has been vague on a lot of details lately - all of her time seems to be taken up thinking about Mr. O. When did she become the kind of girl all hung up on some guy, anyway? Even a good looking one like him. 

"Let me give you a lift home," he says, and now his tone is earnest, his face open. "I know the last bus was ten minutes okay."

"Why do you know the bus schedules? You have a car." She starts gathering up her papers, putting her books into a folder. 

"A lot of my students take the bus," he says. "It's important to keep track." He puts a hand on her shoulder and he squeezes it, and she hates the way her whole body seems to light up, heat rushing across her face, curling in her belly. She resists the urge urge press her thighs together, and she bites her lip in spite of herself.

Even if she's mad at him, her stupid body hasn't gotten the message. 

"What do you want?" Her voice is very quiet, and he has to lean in to hear her. He still has his hand on her shoulder. 

“To give you a ride home,” he says, and he’s talking to her as if she’s a little slow.

“That’s not… that’s not what I meant,” she says. “I meant… you and I have -”

Mr. O holds a finger up, his eyes darting around. The library is empty, but he still looks nervous. “Not here,” he says, and his voice is quiet.

_ So it was fine for me to give you a blow job, but not to talk about any of this? _ Jamie’s face is being pulled into a frown. “I’ll take the bus,” Jamie repeats.

“I can’t let you do that,” says Mr. O, and the way he’s looking at her sends a genuine bolt of fear through her, coiling in guts and squeezing her heart like a snake. 

“What?” 

“The bus isn’t due for a while yet,” he repeats, “and with the weather like this, you’ll get sick.”

“Oh,” she says. “Did you really think I was implying something nefarious?” The look he’s giving her is… hurt, and it squeezes her chest a little tighter.

“I’m sorry,’ she says, and she hates herself for it. “I just…”

“It’s fine,” he says, almost dismissive. “So will you accept my offer?”

“Yeah,” she says, because the idea of standing out in the dark and the rain is… unpleasant, to say the least. And maybe she’s being unreasonable. Or… something. 

Her head hurts, and it feels like there’s a blockage of some kind in her throat. She licks her lips, and she wills the pressure behind her eyes to go away. 

“I’ll meet you up front,” he tells her, and then he’s off, his shoes squeaking on the lino. 

She doesn’t know why she feels so  _ crummy _ , but the ache in her chest seems to be getting worse. She sniffs, and then she runs her fingers through her hair.  _ Grow up _ , she tells herself sternly, but that doesn’t seem to do anything. With a sigh, she begins to gather her things up. At least she’ll have the house to herself, and her parents left her some money to get dinner. Maybe she’ll order takeaway and watch some stupid movies. That might help her feel better. 

-*-

Mr. O shares his umbrella with her, as they make their way to his car. She sits in the front seat, rubbing her hands together, and she tries not to look at him as he starts the car. They ride in silence for a few minutes, and the wipers are very loud in the small space. She watches the rain fall, little splats of it like specks of diamond. 

“Since you aren’t expected home for a while yet, how about I take you out?” His voice is very jovial, and his hand is on her knee, squeezing it. 

“Why are you doing this?” She looks at his hand, looks at his face. They’re stopped at a light, and the shadows seem to make the pits of his eyes that much deeper. Her heart is beating very loudly in her ears. 

“Well, I’d be a horrible person, letting you stay out in the rain,” he says. “Wouldn’t want you to get sick.” 

”That’s not what I meant,” she says, and she sniffles, and hates herself for it. “I just… you keep…” Another sniff.

His hand goes from her leg to her hand, and his hand is that much  _ bigger  _ than hers, and warmer. 

“We have to be careful,” he says. “I thought that you understood.” He’s holding on to her hand so hard that her knuckles are starting to ache. “I… I don’t want to hurt you, Jamie.” He lets go of her hand. “If this is too much… if you’re too young…”

“I’m not too young,” she blurts out. “I’m not.” She’s afraid. She’s not sure what she’s afraid of, but she’s so scared that she can hear something roaring in her ears. Her mouth is very dry, and her stomach is heaving. She’s terrified she’s gonna throw up. 

“I care about you, very much,” he says, and his voice sounds choked up. “I’d be… I’d be very sad, to stop being close with you. Being  _ intimate  _ with you. But if the way I do things is hurting you… I wouldn't want to do that…”

“No, no,” she says, and she’s not sure why she’s saying it. She’s not thinking, she can’t be, and she doesn’t know what she wants, but she doesn’t want to stop with him. Thinking about losing this closeness, this intimacy, it makes her throat close up. “No, I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” he says, but she’s not sure she believes him. He pulls the car over in one dark corner of the nearby grocery store, and he turns the car off. “I know that this is your first adult relationship, and maybe I was just expecting too much -”

She leans forward, and she clumsily kisses his jaw. She’d kiss his mouth, but she can’t reach it with her seatbelt done up. She unclips it, quickly, and then, before she has time to think, she’s leaning over the gear shift, which is digging into her stomach. She kisses him again, and he sighs, kisses her back, one hand on her cheek. 

“I don’t want to stop,” she whispers into his mouth, and then he’s groping under his seat to slide it back, undoing his own seatbelt. She climbs into his lap, and then she seems to come back to herself. She’s straddling his lap, and the windows of the car are all fogged up. Heis hands are sliding under her coat, groping her small breasts under her jumper, and his tongue is in her mouth. He’s so hard - how is he so hard already, pressing into her thigh, and his hands are on her arse, pulling her closer.

The space is just so  _ tight _ , steamy with their breath, and he’s pushed her coat off. Her skirt is riding up, and she’s not wearing any tights or any stockings, and his trousers are rough against her inner thighs. When she comes up for air, she’s clutching at his shirt, and he’s fumbling at his trousers. She can see his boxers - purple - and the wet head of his cock poking up against it.

She grinds down on it, and he groans into her chest,fumbling with the buttons of her shirt. She grabs them herself, hastily unbuttoning them and he groans again, harder. 

“Fuck, your  _ tits _ ,” he mumbles, and he’s humping up into her. He’s pushed her bra up, and his mouth is on her nipple, sloppily kissing and sucking. He’s like some kind of desperate animal, pawing and sucking and moaning against her - she’s never seen him this  _ frenzied  _ before. His cock is positioning in such a way that the only thing separating the two of them is the thin barrier of her knickers and his boxers - if she presses down, it’s almost like he’s pushing into her.

A car goes by, briefly illuminating them, and she freezes.  _ Do I want to be the type of person who does this type of thing in a parked car? _ She squirms, and he groans throatily, his cock pushing insistently against her. 

“Wait,” she murmurs, as he pushes his boxers down. It’s his bare cock now, and she’s grinding against it. It fits between her labia, and the head of it is bumping right up against her clit. She’s panting heavily now, the pleasure beginning to build inside of her like a bottle of pop that’s been shaken up.

“You’re not ready, are you?” He pulls away, and when he looks at her, his expression is… pitying. “It’s okay. I know these things take time.”

Something about the way he says it makes her mad, although she can’t put her finger on what it is. Maybe it’s the pity. Maybe it’s the way she’s been feeling like he’s running from her, then coming back. She wants to do something that  _ proves  _ her feelings for him, that prove that she knows what she’s doing and is serious.

Or maybe she’s just reckless and horny. She’s not sure.

But before she’s really got time to think, she’s pushing aside the crotch of her knickers with one hand and grabbing the shaft of his cock with the other. She presses the head of it against her entrance, and he makes a surprised noise at the first touch of slick hair and wet skin. Then she’s sliding down onto him in one motion, taking another person’s intimate parts into the most intimate part of her own body.

He grunts, and he’s trembling against her, which makes sense, because she’s shaking so hard her teeth are chattering. He’s so  _ big _ , and the heat of him is scalding. She remembers the smooth plastic of the hairbrush, and this is just so  _ different _ \- thicker, hotter, and there’s a silkiness to it, a fullness. She closes her eyes and clenches her cunt around it, and he groans, clutching at her hips like he’s afraid she’ll fly away.

“Jamie,” he breathes. “Jamie, you -”

“I said I was ready,” Jamie grits out, her voice rough. “I  _ said  _ I was, and I am.” Had she said that? She doesn’t remember just yet. She doesn’t remember anything, because her thighs are getting sore from being spread like this, and her cunt is pulsing in time with her heartbeat, in time with  _ his  _ heartbeat.

He kisses her, first along her throat, then on the mouth, his tongue in her mouth, his hands on her hips. He kisses her sweet and deep, the way she likes, and she’s melting against him, her vice grip on his shoulders beginning to loosen. She lets him bounce her in his lap slowly, and the feeling of him moving in and out of her is alien, the intensity as overwhelming as being pushed into the deep end of a swimming pool. 

“Jamie,” he gasps into her mouth. “Jamie, I’m not… I’m not gonna last long, you feel…” He’s speeding up, and she whimpers - it’s a lot, and her body doesn’t seem to know how to interpret that. Her clit is being rubbed against his belly, but the fullness of his cock is too distracting for her to pay attention enough to orgasm. She’s mostly just absorbing it - absorbing the fact that she’s losing her virginity to her teacher, in the front seat of his car. 

Mr. O (and he’s still Mr. O, not Killian, he’s always going to be Mr. O to her, she thinks), gives a long, hard groan into the soft skin of her neck, and then the thing inside of her seems to pulse. There’s the sensation of warmth spreading inside of her, and he flops back into his seat, panting. His sweaty face rubs against her neck, and he’s panting. 

“Next time,” he tells her raggedly, “I’ll last a little longer than that.” 

_ Next time _ , her head parrots, and her heart does a funny little leap. She hates that she’s so happy that he wants there to be a next time… she doesn’t know what she would have done if he hadn’t. 

He helps her lift her hips so he can slip out of her, and a hot wetness follows, dripping from her cunt.

“O-oh,” she stammers as she sits back on his thighs and looks down at their laps. “I’m -“

“S’alright,” he mutters, and his voice is hoarse. “Here.” He leans forward, and his body presses to her as he grabs a small packet of tissues he has stashed in the front of his car. Leaning back again, he takes one out and dabs at himself, before tucking his cock back into his boxers and trousers, and tossing the tissue to the floor to grab out another one.

Jamie gasps and her hips jump when he wipes it between her legs, brushing over her over-sensitised cunt. He gives a chuckle.

“Still needy huh?” 

Jame doesn’t reply, breathing hard as he wipes her clean, her sex fluttering. She feels… empty. A little sore too, but mostly empty. And almost unbearably wet.

“I won’t be able to manage another go for a while, but I can still do something for you,” he offers, his voice low and smooth like honey, as he starts to rub at her clit with his thumb. “If you’d like that?” He says with a smirk.

Exhaling shakily, Jamie nods. She wasn’t really expecting to orgasm - she wasn’t really expecting anything, it had all… happened so fast, in the end. But now, even though her head is in turmoil her body is quivering and aching, there’s a pressure between her legs that begs for release. She nods desperately. 

He moves his thumb away, and slides his hand round to squeeze her arse, before giving her a pat. “Go get in the back seat then.” He plucks at her knickers, shifting the crotch of them back into place over her soaked center. “And take these off.”

Her limbs are shaking so hard, she can hardly clamber off him. But somehow she manages to get the car door open, and pull her jumper down over her bare chest before she stumbles out on wobbling legs, and straight into the back of the car. There's rain in her hair and soaking into her clothes, mingling with her sweat. 

She’s still shaking as she shuffled back on the seat and pulls her knickers down. They get caught round her shoes and her hands are trembling too hard to be much use as she wrestled with them and  _ god, Jamie, get a grip!  _ She scolds herself. Why was she shaking so hard? They’d done it now. She’d had sex. With Mr O. 

She gets the little piece of fabric free of her shoes just as the car door opens again, and her teacher climbs into the backseat with her, closing it behind him. The windows are still fogged, and Jamie supposes she’s glad if that; that nobody would be able to see them should they happen to go past. 

He reaches round and shoved the drivers seat forward again, all the way so there’s space for him to kneel in the footwell, moving towards her where she’s meant half against the door on the opposite side. In the dim light, the streaks of rain on his face look almost like tears.

“Come here,” he tells her, arranging her so she has one leg up on the seat and the other dangling off the side and him between them. She’s spread open before his eyes, and though he’s seen her like this before, over video just the other night, it’s… exposing, to be faced with him like this. She’s breathing very fast and she hopes it’s not obvious how much she’s still trembling. 

“Has anyone gone down on you before?” He murmurs, and he’s kissing her thigh now, pushing her skirt up. 

Jamie shakes her head. 

“A pity,” he muses, his mouth moving upwards scattering kisses and nips over her bare pale skin. “Gorgeous girls like you deserve to have their clit sucked.”

Jamie gasps at that, his crude words sending a rush of heat to her already burning cunt, and she clutches at her skirt with a fist as his hot breath moves higher, and ghosts over her soaked slit. 

The first touch of his mouth on her is like oil to a furnace, and Jamie gasps again, resisting the urge to squirm away from the intensity of it as Mr O laps expertly up to her clit and flicks his tongue over it. 

“You can make noises,” he murmurs against her after a moment, and Jamie realises she’d been biting down hard on her bottom lip to keep quiet as his tongue delved through her folds. “In fact… I’d much prefer it if you did,” he throws her a leering smirk and Jamie’s cheeks flush.

“Okay,” she whispers.

“Come on,” he prompts, lapping at her clit again. “Moan for me.”

He takes the swollen nub between his lips and  _ sucks _ , and Jamie forces out a strangled moan that sounds more like a squeak.

“Let me hear you baby,” he presses, and slips his hand beneath his chin to slide two fingers into her. She gasps, squeezing her eyes shut. She’s squashed up against the car door, and somethings digging into her back and her bare legs are  _ so cold _ … she tries to push all that down and focus on the sensations between her legs, forces herself to concentrate. He wants her to moan - she can do that, right? Sometimes she had to suppress sounds when she was on her own in her bed with her hand shoved down her pyjama bottoms. She just… needed to let them out.

“I can taste myself on you, you know,” he murmurs, and she gasps a bit at that, at the rough drag of his stubble against her clit as he talks, on her sensitive inner thighs. He strokes his fingers inside her, circling them towards his chin, and Jamie thinks about the fact that his cock had been inside her there just minutes ago. 

She lets out a moan, a little louder this time, and Mr O groans in response against her. 

“That’s it,” he breaths, and he’s pumping his fingers now, shoving them in and out of her, hard enough to make her body jolt, her small breasts jiggling with the movements where her shirt was still pushed open. “Again,” he demands.

She does, and it feels forced and awkward but it’s what he wants… girls were supposed to moan weren’t they? They always did in any of the porn she’d seen (which wasn’t much - it had always felt too… fake to get much enjoyment from) - had she been too quiet before when she’d been in his lap? 

“Mr O,” she gasps, and she’s not sure what she’s asking for. 

“That’s it,” he pants, fucking her harder with his fingers. She was  _ so wet  _ she could hear the slick squelch of it. Or was some of that him? “Tell me how it feels.”

“S-so good…”

“Yeah, it’s good?”

“Yeah, it - oh - uhhh…” that one had slipped out unbidden, as Mr O had pressed his tongue to her clit and flicked it rapidly over the little nib. Jamie feels heat and pleasure build fast between her legs, and she throws her head back, uncaring how it smacks against the car door. “Shit!” She gasps. “Mr O - oh fuck!” She might be a little embarrassed at the language spilling from her mouth if she had the sense to, but her teacher’s tongue and fingers are relentless on her now, pressing all her pleasure spots, and she grips desperately to his hair - when had her hand got there? It bites into her fingers, and it's damp with sweat and rain. She holds her breath as her whole body coils up tight like a spring.

She cries out when she comes, a needy, desperate sort of sound as her thighs tremble either side of his head and a rush of wetness meets his mouth. She’s panting when he slips his fingers out of her, and there’s a layer of sweat covering her skin as her chest heaves. 

Mr O drops a kiss to her quivering cunt, and her hips jolt. He smirks. 

“Look at you, all sticky,” he murmurs, and he seems to take delight in that, smoothing his hands over her thighs. “You’ll have to take a shower when you get in,” he tells her, and he’s kneeling up now, pushing a hand into her hair and leaning in to press his lips to her neck, then move his mouth to her ear, whispering hotly to her. “And you can think of me again when you feel me trickling down your thigh.”

Jamie’s eyes widen and her breath stutters a bit.  _ That would happen?  _ She’d never really thought about this part of sex - although whenever she’d thought about sex in any kind of detail she’d always imagined doing it for the first time with a condom on. Was she stupid not to have done? She is on the pill, but Jamie knows it’s not always one hundred percent effective, and what if he  _ has  _ given her something… she gives herself a little shaking, squashing down her anxiety. He’d said she could trust him. And she did. Trust him. 

“Here.” He clambers up onto the seat, handing her underwear to her, and Jamie pulls it on a little numbly with trembling fingers as Mr O gets out of the backseat and back into the front. She hastily pulls the rest of her clothes together, dragging her bra down, buttoning her shirt and pushing down her skirt, smoothing hands through her missed hair.

_ A shower,  _ she thinks as she clambers out of the back and into the front seat again. A hot shower sounds good right now. She thinks about standing under the hot spray as Mr O pulls the car out, of scrubbing at her skin and her hair, washing away all the sweat and stickiness and feeling clean again, then getting into bed and wrapping herself in her warm duvet.

Then maybe she’ll be able to stop shaking so hard. 

-*-


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I just want to add a little note here at this point, in case it's not already obvious from the underage element and the tags (and within the text itself), this fic portrays a very unhealthy relationship with tones of emotional abuse (which I have added to the tags) so please read with caution and bear this in mind.

Mr O texts her that night. Nothing substantial just a  _ Hey, hope you had a nice shower ;) _ and Jamie stares at it as she lays curled up in bed and can’t summon up the energy to form a reply.

She feels strangely numb. Maybe because she’s always imagined her first time to be in a bed (or at least indoors) and fancied that she’d fall asleep with the person afterwards, all content and safe and warm…

Childish fantasies. She feels a little silly for them now. It wasn’t - just because it was her first time didn’t mean it was anything special. Sex was just… sex. In a relationship people had sex, and it wasn’t that big a deal. 

Except… she and Mr O weren’t in a relationship, were they?  _ Killian,  _ she mentally corrects herself. She’d had his cock inside her - she should start calling him by his first name… but somehow it wouldn’t sink in in her brain. 

She can still feel him between her legs when she thinks about it. Her cunt was over sensitive, and she could remember vividly the pressure of him stretching her open. She squirms a bit, thighs pressed together, and burrows deeper under her duvet. 

Jamie falls asleep that night telling herself the lump in her throat is just because she’s so  _ tired.  _

-*-

Mr O’s eyes linger on her during registration the next morning, and Yaz asks twice if she’s okay when she can’t stop fidgeting in her seat. She’d had a missed call from him on her phone this morning, which had been on silent while she’d slept, and she’s been anxious all morning about what he’d wanted to say at half midnight. He’s standing by the door as they all file out to classes after the bell, and he grabs Jamie’s arm as she goes past. 

“A word,” he murmurs quietly.

Face flushing, she quickly nods. “Hey, go I’ll catch up,” she forces a smile for Yaz, who glances between them a moment before nodding back and hurrying off.

The door closes behind her, leaving them alone, and Jamie turns to face him with sweating palms. Was this it? Was he about to tell her they’d gone too far - that what had happened between them had been a mistake and warn her never to come near him again? 

“You didn’t reply to my text,” is what he says instead, and Jamie blinks at the dark intensity in his eyes. 

“Oh - sorry, I -“

“And I called you. You didn’t pick up.”

“I was asleep. Sorry.” He frowns at her a moment. He’s still holding her arm, and his grip is tight like a vice. 

“If you’re having second thoughts -“

“What? No!” She gasps quickly. “No that’s not - I’m not.”

He seems to relax a bit at that, some of the tension disappearing from his shoulders, and Jamie feels a twinge of guilt at having worried him. To think - she’s been concerned  _ he _ would want to end things… she was so stupid sometimes.

“Sorry,” she adds. “I really did just fall asleep. I was… tired.”

A small smirk tugs at his lips, and Jamie flushes.

“Well,” he says, “make sure you answer my messages in future. You could have spared me a text before you went to sleep anyway,” he says, and she squirms, feeling like she’s being reprimanded.

“I will.”

“And…” he glances at the door to make sure nobody is looking in. “You understand that you can’t tell anyone about last night, don’t you?”

Jamie frowns. “Of course I do. I’m not stupid.”

“I know you’re not. But I also know what you girls are like with your friends - telling each other everything…”

“I’m not,” she says firmly. “I’m not like that. I don’t talk about that kind of stuff.” It was mostly true - Amy had told her everything she and Rory had done in graphic detail when she’d lost her virginity to him last summer, but since she’d moved away and Jamie had found herself mostly hanging around with Yaz and Ryan lately, boys and sex were rarely the topic of discussion. 

“Well. Good,” he says, and then appears to hesitate. She thinks he looks a little nervous, and tilts her head curiously. “Are you… alright? After last night, I mean. I know it can be a lot to take in. First times always are - and it wasn’t exactly the most ideal setting.”

Although his words are gentle, Jamie can’t help the distinct feeling that he’s reprimanding her again.  _ She  _ had been the one to initiate everything last night. She’d taken him inside herself before she could scarcely think about what she was doing… did Mr O wish they’d waited? Would he rather have taken her somewhere else first? 

“I’m fine,” she rasps, throat dry. 

“Good,” he nods, and then he smiles at her, and his hand slips from her arm down to tangle with her own and give it a squeeze. “Next time I’ll take you somewhere a little more comfortable…” he moves in closer to her and Jamie’s breath catches in her throat. “I’ve been thinking about having you spread naked across my bed ever since I met you… maybe we can make that fantasy come true…”

Her eyelids flutter, and heat rushes to her core. God - how did he  _ do  _ this to her? 

“How does that sound?”

“It sounds… good,” she breathes. 

There’s a blind over the little window in the door, there for exam purposes, and he pulls it down before pushing Jamie up against the door, his mouth slanting over hers as his hand comes up to cup her roughly and possessively between her legs. 

She squeaks against his mouth, his tongue sliding over her own before she has a moment to process it, and she kisses him back a little numbly, her head spinning and cunt throbbing in his hand.

“You better get off to your classes,” he tells her when he pulls away, giving her a final squeeze between the legs before stepping back. Jamie drags trembling hands down over her clothes. 

“I’ll give you a note to say you were discussing work with me if the teacher asks why you’re late,” he says as he steps over to his desk and quickly scribbles on a piece of paper. Their fingers brush as he hands it to her, and she goes to take it and turn away, only to find him holding onto it until she looks up into his eyes.

“Make sure you reply as soon as I text you in future,” he stipulates, and Jamie nods, too giddy at the fact that he wanted to do so to think anything else of it. 

-*-

He texts her that Saturday afternoon. He hasn’t been responding to  _ her _ texts (apart from a one worded “busy” on Wednesday evening), which she thinks is a bit rich after the fit he threw over her not responding before, and a little confused, she keeps to herself. She's sad in complicated ways that she doesn't entirely understand, except all she wants to do is lie on her bed and stare at the ceiling. 

She thinks her parents might be worried about her. She's always been fairly cheery, but she's been known to keep herself to herself when she's in a certain kind of mood.

She has her hands behind her head, some playlist or another going on in the background. She isn't sure what she… wants. She’ds done all of her extra credit work, caught up on her homework. She’s even made inroads on that horrible novel for class. She hasn’t touched the books that he gave her, though - something about it is unappealing.

Her phone buzzes, and she yawns, reaches for it. 

It’s Mr. O.

_ Do you like old movies?  _ The message seems innocuous, and also somewhat out of left field.

_ Depends how old, _ she responds,  _ and what kind of movie.  _ Wait. Does that make her look immature?

_ Do you like science fiction?  _ Comes his immediate response.

Her face breaks out into a bit of a grin in spite of herself.  _ Yeah _ , she sends him.  _ My parents used to play Star Wars nonstop. When I was a baby they said the opening theme could put me to sleep. _

_ Want to go see an old science fiction movie with me? _

_ Y-e _ , she starts typing, then pauses. Does she want to appear too eager? That might look dumb. And what if it’s actually not a very good movie, and he’ll judge her for not liking it, or for liking it?

_ What movie is it? _ She asks instead. 

_ Metropolis _ , comes his immediate response.  _ That old movie theater on James Street is doing showings of the old silent movies, and I remember you mentioning in class that you like science fiction. _

“So why’d you ask me if I do,” she says out loud.  _ I’d be willing to have a go _ , she allows.

_ Buy yourself a ticket, I’ll meet you inside the theater. Do you want me to get you popcorn? _

_ Yes please! _ Wait. Does that make her look immature?  _ If you want any _ , she adds. 

_ Looking forward to it _ , he says.  _ Do you know the theater? _

She doesn’t, but a quick search on her phone answers the question.  _ I can get there okay. What time? _

_ Get a ticket for the five o’clock one, _ he tells her,  _ and wear something brightly colored, so I can find you inside. Sit towards the back. _

_ You aren’t going to meet me in the lobby? _

_ Can’t have people seeing us going in together, love _ , he tells her.

She flushes. Of course. How could she forget that?

_ Sorry _

_ See you at the theater _ , he tells her, and that reads like enough of a dismissal for her to get the message. 

-*- 

Jamie isn't the youngest person at the theater, thankfully, but it's a near thing. The place is on the more cramped end of the spectrum, and the seats are smaller than the regular theater's, and covered in threadbare velvet. She leans back into her seat, her eyes darting between the curtain covered screen and her phone. 

It lights up- a text from Mr. O. 

_ What would you like to drink? _

_ Lemonade, please. _

It all feels so… normal. Is this what it's like to have a boyfriend? She's never been on a proper date before, and she's always wondered. Although he didn't say it was a date, and aren't dates supposed to be one of those things that both parties agree on together? 

She sees him a few minutes later, and resists the urge to wave at him. There aren't a lot of people in the theater, but there are enough that they might notice. 

He comes to sit next to her, and his face just looks so… nice. He looks like he's genuinely glad to see her. 

"I'll comp you for your ticket," is the first thing be tells her. 

She blinks. She wasn't expecting that. 

"Thanks," she says, because she isn't sure how to respond otherwise. 

"Thanks for being willing to come along," he says, and now he looks faintly sheepish. "I always feel weird, going to movies by myself." 

"I kinda like it," Jamie says. He's got a big bag of popcorn in front of him, and his legs seem awfully cramped in the small aisle. "It's also nice going with other people," she adds hastily, "but getting to just sit and people watch can be nice. People's faces do the most interesting things when they think nobody is looking."

Mr. O smiles. "You're always watching, aren't you?" 

"Not always," she says, and she blushes, looks at her hands. 

"Most kids your age wouldn't be interested in a silent movie," he says, leaning back in his seat. 

"I'm not a kid," she says. "Although I've never seen a silent movie before."

"Well," he says, "you're in luck. This is one of the greats."

The lights begin to dim, and she hastily turns her phone on and leans back in her seat. The curtains covering the screen begin to draw back, and she takes a deep breath, in anticipation of… she doesn't know what. 

Mr. O's knee is pressed against her own, and then her hand is in his. There’s a great swell of music, and the screen begins to flicker. 

The anxious emptiness that's been gnawing at her guts seems to recede as well, and she's smiling as the opening of the film begins. 

-*-

The movie is… different from anything she's seen before. She's half expecting Mr. O to try some kind of… something, as the two of them watch the movie. Maybe a hand sliding up her thigh, or down her shirt. But nothing. 

He leans over occasionally, to whisper in her ear. 

"The actresses' hair kept getting caught in that suit," or "that was the first time this film technique was ever used."

When time the lights come back on, she's babbling excitedly. He's nodding along, occasionally commenting, as they make their way out of the theater.

"And when he had that dream, and it ended up intercutting with the dance scene!" _ He doesn't seem to mind being see walking out with me, _ some distant part of her thinks. 

He tosses the popcorn bag into the trash. "I'm just gonna use the loo," he tells her. 

"Sure," she says, leaning against the wall and turning her phone back on. 

There's a voice-mail from her parents letting her know they won't be home when she gets in "probably", and texts from her brothers. One is out with his boyfriend, one got called up for an emergency football thing. 

The house is completely empty. 

"Do you need a ride home?" Mr. O asks, when he comes back. 

"If you don't mind," she says. "The bus is always unreliable on weekends." 

"Parents not gonna pick you up?" Mr. O asks.

"They're out," says Jamie. 

Mr. O smiles, and Jamie can feel herself blushing. "Is that so?"

"Yeah," she says, and she wishes her voice would stop squeaking. He's looking at her in a way that makes her stomach twist up and her cheeks turn red, and she has a feeling he knows it. 

"Well," he says, "let's get you home then, hm?" 

-*-

When Mr O pulls up outside Jamie’s house, he switches his engine off and turns to her with an expectant smile. 

“So,” he says. “Since your parents are out… gonna invite me in?”

“Oh,” says Jamie, a little surprised. “Um - y-yeah sure. If you want?”

“Love to,” he says easily, taking his seatbelt off and getting out of the car. She fishes her key out of her pocket and she fumbles a bit with getting it in the lock, hands inexplicably shaky all of a sudden. 

“Um,” she says when he follows her inside. “Did you want a drink or… something? I’m not sure if we have much… and I’m not allowed to touch the alcohol but -”

“I’m fine,” he tells her, his hand on the bottom of her back as she kicks off her shoes and shrugs off her coat. “Do I get to see your room then?”

Her eyes widening a bit, Jamie’s stomach flips. “If you want to, it’s not -”

He cuts her words off when he backs her into the wall by the stairs, suddenly right in her space, the scent of his aftershave and  _ him _ surrounding her as he leans in, pushing a hand into her hair and cupping the back of her neck. 

“Don’t you want me to?”

Aware he was referring to much more than just  _ seeing _ her room, Jamie swallows as he presses a knee between her thighs. 

“I do,” she breathes, and then Mr O is taking her hand in his own and nudging her towards the stairs. 

“Lead the way then,” he smiles. 

Her legs feel a bit numb as she tugs him up her stairs. They get to the landing and she pushes open her door and takes him inside, and then he’s closing it behind him and looking around and - 

Suddenly Jamie is  _ acutely _ aware of the posters on her walls, the soft toys all lined up on her bed along the wall, the messy desk full of her homework and piles of books stacked on every surface - not to mention that it wasn’t currently the tidiest… her mum was always moaning at her for not picking her clothes up. 

“Um,” she says, giving a nervous laugh as she hastily stoops to scoop up some clothes off the floor, tossing them to the chair on her desk. “Sorry, I need to tidy and - I mean I’ve been meaning to decorate really, I know it’s kind of…” She trails off as Mr O walks round, hands behind his back as he peers at her things. Her walls are blue and yellow, with a rainbow banner above her bed, her curtains had  _ stars  _ on them - oh god, she’d had those since she was small! Not to mention the glow in the dark stars on her ceiling above her bed too - and all her little collectibles lined up on her shelves from her favourite shows. Her cheeks colour as she thinks of Mr O’s flat, with it’s cool neutral decor and minimal furniture and decoratives. He must think her so  _ childish _ . 

“I like it,” he throws her a smile, picking up a big soft fish shaped plushie from her bed. “Does he have a name?” He grins, and Jamie huffs, cheeks hot at his teasing as she crosses the room and snatches it out of his hands. 

“His name’s Jimmy,” she says curtly, tossing it to her bed as Mr O chuckles at her. He catches her hand in his own and tugs her close, wrapping an arm around her waist. 

“It’s very cute,” he tells her, smiling by her ear. “Like you.”

“I’m not cute,” she huffs, but tilts her head to let him kiss her neck. 

“You’re the cutest,” he rumbles against her skin, mouthing under her jaw. 

“I’m -” She cuts off with a squeak of surprise when Mr O tumbles them down onto her bed. She bounces, landing sprawled against her array of teddies, and she gasps as he rucks up her shirts, kissing his way heatedly up over her bare stomach and chest. 

He undresses her quickly - almost so fast that Jamie feels like she’s barely blinked and he’s tugging her knickers down her bare legs, leaving her totally naked beneath his heated gaze. He sits on his heels between her knees, looking down at her, and he’s panting, his eyes dark as he rakes his gaze over her body. 

“Fuck you’re perfect,” he tells her, and Jamie’s lips part. 

“Do you really think so?”

“Yes,” he nods, leaning down over her now, his mouth hovering above her own. “You’re gorgeous Jamie. I’m so lucky that I get to see you like this.”

“I wanna - I wanna see you to,” she utters, tugging at his shirt with sweating hands. It’s chilly in her room, and her skin has goosebumps where he’s stripped her bare like this, why are her palms sweating? 

“Yeah?” He smirks. “You might be disappointed. I’m not as young and fit as you are.”

“Never!” She tells him. “And besides I already saw  _ most _ of you when we video called that time…”   
He gives a chuckle, and leans down to rub his nose against hers. “I suppose you did,” he says, and then he clambers off her and the bed and starts pulling his clothes off. 

Jamie bites her lip, her chest heaving as she watches him strip. To think… her teacher standing in the middle of her own bedroom taking his clothes off for her… it sends a thrill through Jamie that makes her grow wet and hot between her legs, makes her heart pound and her mouth go dry. 

She’s distinctly aware of her own nakedness as he shrugs his shirt off and starts on his trousers, and Jamie grabs the duvet, tugging it over herself as she watches him. 

He gives a chuckle as he pushes them down. “I’ve already seen it, love.”

“I’m cold,” she shoots back. 

“You are?” Jamie’s eyes follow Mr O’s hands as they hook into his boxers and start to tug them down. “Guess I’ll have to find a way to warm you up then hm?” His words are accompanied by his cock springing free, hard and ready for her, and that heat between her legs increases. She squirms, eyeing him as he steps closer. 

“Like what you see?” he smirks as he palms himself and Jamie nods, biting her lip. Her eyes flick up to his. 

“I think you’re beautiful,” she tells him honestly. 

“Well thanks,” he chuckles, placing a knee on the bed and crawling up on top of her. He tugs at the duvet, pulling it off, and settles himself over her instead. Jamie has a distinct flashback to when she’d been pinned beneath him on his sofa like this, and just like then, he feels heavy and huge on top of her… she kind of likes it. She likes that he’s here with her, like this - that he wants her and he thinks she’s gorgeous and she can feel his cock, hard and weeping against her belly. 

A little twinge of anxiousness goes through her as he nudges her knees apart and settles between them. The last time -  _ first _ time - had happened so fast - Jamie had taken him inside herself barely thinking about what she was doing, but this… feels a lot steadier. A lot more… purposeful. 

“Wait,” she finds herself gasping as he reaches down between them. 

“What is it?”

“I’m… I just… c-can you kiss me?” She stammers. In truth she doesn’t really know what she wants - or why she’d stopped him.  _ Get a grip, Jamie!  _ She tells herself. They had already had sex - what was she suddenly so nervous for? 

Mr O obliges her, leaning in and pressing his mouth to her own. He kisses her slow and deep, his tongue sliding alone her own, mouth devouring hers as his body presses flat against the length of her own. He ruts against her, rocking his hips, and Jamie whimpers into the kiss as his cock slides over her labia. 

“Ready?” He murmurs against her lips when he breaks the kiss, and Jamie nods automatically. 

She squeezes her eyes shut as he pushes into her. There’s that slightly painful stretch just like last time, and it makes her gasp and hold her breath, focusing acutely on the still alien sensation. He enters her a lot slower than he had done before, pressing into her just a little way before withdrawing and going in further. He does this a little more each time, letting Jamie feel every inch of him, until finally he sinks in and his hips hit her own. 

“You’re so good Jamie,” he breathes, and she opens her eyes and releases the breath as he strokes her hair back from her face. 

“I am?”

He nods. “Look at you… taking all of me like this…  _ so _ good…” He withdraws and sinks his hips into her again as he says those words, and Jamie’s breath hitches. A surge of pride rushes through her, and she lifts her knees, wanting to let him sink in as deep as possible. When he thrusts into her again, it’s a little harder, and a sound leaves her lips.

“Tell me how I feel inside you baby,” he says roughly. 

“You feel - good. So good,” she utters. She’s parroting his own words back at him but she doesn’t know what else to say. Did he want to to talk dirty to him? Jamie doesn’t know if she can do that. 

“Yeah? You like the feel of my cock in your hot little cunt?”

She gasps at that, and feels herself clench around him. The feeling is intense, and she throws her head back as he groans and shoves his hips harder into hers. She felt so  _ full _ , it was making her a little light-headed. 

_ I’m never going to be able to concentrate in one of his classes ever again,  _ she thinks ridiculously as he pumps into her. Not that she’d been able to for a while now… but Jamie doesn’t think she will be able to look at him and not remember vividly the words ‘ _ hot little cunt’ _ falling from his lips as he’d fucked her like this again. 

He leans up over her on his hands and starts moving faster, and Jamie is distinctly aware of her way her small breasts are bouncing roughly with his movements now - it’s hard not to be when his dark eyes are locked on them like that. She likes it… she thinks. He makes her feel so…  _ much _ . This is so much. She’s naked in her bed -  _ her own bed! _ She reminds herself as she stares up at the ceiling and sees the little glowing starts she’d had stuck there since she was five - with a man on top of her, moving inside her. He’s grunting now, and Jamie thinks she’s moaning, small, soft sounds that seem to come from somewhere deep within her as sensations ricochet through her. 

He pulls out and turns her over at some point, and then she’s flat on her tummy, with her knees pressed into her mattress and her hips raised, and she’s clutching at her pillow with white knuckles as his cock slides in and out of her, moving faster and harder now. 

“Fuck, Jamie,” she hears him curse, and he slips a hand round to grope her breasts as he pounds into her. “Fuck you feel good… such a good girl, you’re a good girl,” he repeats, and Jamie finds herself moaning into her pillow at his words. He’s fucking her so hard her teeth are almost knocking together, and it still feels like  _ so much _ that she almost feels like she’s only half there. There’s a pressure building between her legs, and she thinks she’s going to come. Can she come like this? With nothing even on her clit? 

“Mr O,” she gasps out, her thighs starting to shake as his hips slap against her backside. The nosie is loud in the quiet of her room, as is slick sounds their bodies are making as he slides in and out of her - sex is a lot  _ noisier _ than she’d ever imagined it would be - and why was she still calling him that? He was literally inside of her and he probably thought she was ridiculous. “Killian,” she corrects, the name feeling clumsy and foreign in her mouth. 

“Yeah baby, that’s it,” he groans. “Shit I can’t -  _ fuck _ \- I need - I need you to come now,” he gets out, voice strained. “Can you do that for me?”

He fumbles, going down onto his forearm to wriggle his other hand from her breast down between her legs, his thick fingers slipping clumsily above where their bodies were joined. He rubs at her clit and she shouts, cunt tightening around him. 

“That’s it - good girl -  _ fuck…” _

She comes when he does - or at least, she thinks she does. Her body gives a sort of… shudder, and there’s more wetness and heat, and she goes a bit lightheaded as he growls by the back of her neck, and his hips stutter into hers. 

She’s wet and sticky, and her cunt is tingling when he slips out of her, rolling to flop onto his back next to her with a satisfied sounding groan. 

Jamie is panting hard into her pillow, and for a moment the only sound in the room is their laboured breathing, and the familiar ticking of the clock over on her wall. 

Mr O turns his head to face her after a moment, and lifts a hand to her face, smiling. 

“You’re perfect,” he tells her, and Jamie’s heart skips a beat. 

“I am?”

“Absolutely,” he says, and leans in to press a kiss to her head before rolling out of the bed and gathering his clothes. 

Should she dress too? Maybe she should. But Jamie doesn’t feel like she has the energy to move. She tugs at the duvet instead, curling up on her side under it as she watches her teacher pull his clothes back on. She feels exhausted - was it normal to feel this tired after sex? Last time had been the same… and this time had been… a lot  _ more _ than that. It had been… rougher, than Jamie had imagined. But she liked it. Didn't she? Mr O had certainly seemed to like it, and Jamie felt thrilled that she’d pleased him. 

“I didn’t hurt you did I?” He asks almost like an afterthought as he pulls up his trousers and buttons them. She shakes her head. 

“No,” she says, and her voice is a little raspy. “It was… good.”

He smirks at her then, his dark eyes twinkling with a look that makes her cunt give a pulse. “I knew you could take it,” he says, and he sounds proud. Jamie bites her lip, smiling back. 

“I can.”

He has his shirt on now, and he steps back to the bed and leans over her as he buttons it. He presses a kiss to her lips. “I should go. Before your parents get back.”

Jamie nods, but can’t help the way her stomach sinks a bit. She’d expected it of course -  _ of course _ . There was no way they could risk her parents returning home while Mr O was still in her house (in her room - in her  _ bed) _ , and she knew he had to leave. 

She just hates the way her heart feels heavy and a stupid, ridiculous lump appears in her throat again as he stands and moves away. 

"I'll text you," he says, and he ruffles her hair. "And I'll see you in school on Monday."

"Definitely," she tells him, and she's still speaking around the lump in her throat. She watches him walk out the door, and she curls up in her bed. It still smells like the sex they were having, and she isn't sure if she likes it or not.

She grabs Jimmy, wrapping herself tightly around him, and she hears the sound of the door closing behind him, and then his car starting up. 

She lies in her bed in her empty house, his come sticky on her leg, and she tries to ignore the wetness dripping out of her eyes. She'll be fine. Absolutely fine. 

-*-


	10. Chapter 10

Monday comes around too quick, as they always seem to. But at least she’d get to see Mr O, Jamie thinks as she heads to school that morning. They’d texted a little yesterday, then he’d called her last night and it had been… nice. They’d just chatted about this and that and then he’d told her she should get some sleep before school tomorrow and hung up. When she’d got back to bed after brushing her teeth there was a text on her phone: _Sweet dreams beautiful_ , it read, and Jamie had a smile on her face and her phone clutched in her hand when she’d curled up in bed to sleep. 

He smiles at her during registration when he calls her name, and throws her a wink before she leaves when nobody else is looking her way, and Jamie feels a little silly for her emotions after he’d left her on saturday night. It wasn’t like he had a choice with her parents due home - and they’d had a nice evening. And the sex had been… good, and really, she doens’t know why she ever felt so upset and blames it on her hormones as she heads to class feeling lighter than she had in days. 

And then Mr O’s science class rolls around after lunch. 

The class itself is fine - they do some experiments that Jamie enjoys, and she’s the only one who manages to work out the formula by herself, which gets her one of those knee-weakening smiles of his. And then he hands back their papers from last week. 

Jamie smiles at him as he gets to her bench, and his eyes meet hers briefly as he leafs through for her name, and tosses it down onto the table in front of her before moving along, and Jamie looks down and - 

Her stomach drops. 

...C?

He’d given her… a C??

The remaining five minutes or so of the class pass in a blur as he blabbers about their assignment for next week, while Jamie stares at her paper in front of her and tries to make sense of her grade. 

“And that’s the bell,” Mr O wraps the lesson up as it rings shrilly above their heads. “Off you all go then - remember - learn that formula!”

There’s the sound of chairs scraping against the floor of the lab as people get up and pack their stuff up to leave, and Jamie picks up her graded work and heads to the front of the class. 

“Can I talk to you about my paper sir?” She says, and is surprised to find that her heart is beating fast and her ears are rushing a bit as she tries to keep her tone neutral and polite in front of her peers.

“Sure,” he says, “what’s up?”

“In private,” she stipulates through slightly gritted teeth.

“Very well,” he answers like it’s neither here nor there, and Jamie folds her arms and hovers by his desk as he tidies away his things and the rest of the class finishes filing out.

The door closes behind the last student, and Jamie turns to him and slams her paper down on his desk.

“A _C?!”_

“Yes,” he says evenly. “Not your best work, was it? Still, it’s a passing grade.” 

“That’s not the point,” Jamie grinds out.

“Then what _is_ the point?”

“This shouldn’t have been a C - I don’t _get_ Cs, and I worked hard on this and -“

“Miss Smith,” her teacher says, and he’s folding his hands on the desk in front of him and giving her a _look._

“Are you suggesting I’ve marked your paper incorrectly?”

“I’m - I’m _suggesting_ that it deserved better than a C!”

“So you are.”

“...Yes,” she says, and holds his piercing gaze, her jaw set. After a tense pause, Mr O leans back in his chair and folds his arms. 

“You know,” he says, “sleeping with me isn’t a pass to straight As.”

Her jaw drops, and heat rushes to her face that she isn’t sure is embarrassment or fury. _How dare he?!_ Was he seriously implying that -

“You seriously think that’s what it was?!” She demands, and there’s a squeak to her voice, a slightly hysterical edge to her words she can’t quell. “You - you think I’d give you my _virginity_ for good grades?! I can’t believe you would even -“

“Shh, shush!,” he hushes her, and he looks faintly annoyed as he strides to the door and yanks down the blind then turns the lock. “Can we take this down a few notches please? You’re being ridiculous.”

“I am _not_ being ridiculous!” Jamie snaps back, and she thinks she’s going to cry. “You _said_ -“

“Well forgive me if the thought enters my head when you storm up to me right after we’ve slept together and throw a fit because I haven’t given you the grade you wanted,” he says, and he’s frowning. 

“It’s not - it’s not because I just _wanted_ it - my work is good! It was good, I know it was good - I’ve never _ever_ gotten a C!”

“Well, now you have.”

“But that’s not fair! I worked hard on it and -”

“Do you want to calm down so we can actually discuss the contents of your work or are you just going to continue this little temper tantrum?”

“I am _not_ having a temper tantrum!” Jamie snaps back. She realises she’s stomped her foot too late - and her face goes red as Mr O quirks an eyebrow at her. 

“I’d be happy to find a time to sit down with you if you want to go over it,” he says cooly, voice detached like he’s just… just her _teacher._ How could he sit there and look at her and talk to her like they were nothing more to each other than that after he’d been inside of her? 

“Don’t bother,” Jamie spits, and grabs her paper off the desk before whirling on her heel to storm towards the door.

“Jamie,” he snaps. “Jamie!” 

The door slams behind her, and her feet have taken her halfway down the hallway towards her next class before she realises she’s choking back tears, and hastily changes course to the nearest toilets. 

It’s a while before she’s composed herself enough in the loo cubicle to get the ringing in her ears or the anger making her hands tremble to stop, and Jamie grabs off another wad of loo roll and blows her nose, dapping at her face.

She splashes cold water on her eyes at the sink, but her face is still red and blotchy. She’ll be twenty minutes late for her last class of the day if she turns up now, and Jamie doesn’t think she can handle another teacher yelling at her, so instead, she shoulders her bag and simply heads right out of school. 

Mr O texts her that night. 

_I was expecting an apology by now,_ is all it says, and it makes all that absolute fury boil up inside her again. _Her?!_ Apologise? _Her apologise?!_ After he’d accused her of sleeping with him for good grades!?

She fights the urge to throw her phone against her bedroom wall in anger, and instead types out a furious _Leave me alone._ And switches it off with trembling fingers before burying her face in her pillow to scream into it. 

She doesn’t sleep well, and she makes it to school just before registration the next morning with bags under her eyes. She is careful not to meet Mr O’s eyes when he calls out her name for the register. 

Now she has calmed down a little and had plenty of time to think it over on the way here, in fairness to him… she _had_ slacked on the assignment. Not on purpose, she’d just been so… distracted lately, she had trouble concentrating on anything. But Jamie knows that her mediocre work was still probably better than most of the others in her class - certainly not deserving of a _C_. And she’s angry and hurt now, not just because of that, but because of what he’d accused her of. 

“Miss Smith could I have a world please,” he drawls as everyone packs their things away to get off to classes. Jamie shoves her books into her bag and stands, shouldering it, then she walks right out of class with everyone else. He’d be mad but she didn’t _care._ She didn’t want to talk to him right now. She couldn’t.

“Umm… Jamie?!” It’s Yaz, hurrying along to catch up to her. “Mr O just said he wanted to see you?”

“Did he? Must not have heard him.”

“Yeah he did - shouldn’t you go back?”

“Nah we’ll be late for maths. And we’ve got double science with him later anyway, I’m sure he can talk to me then if he needs to,” she says dismissively. “Hey, did you get the question you asked about on the maths homework from last week?” 

Yaz is successfully distracted, and Jamie does feel guilty about having to be so… secretive around her lately - but she doesn’t have a choice. She can’t risk her friends finding out what has been going on between her and Mr O. 

She’s also… embarrassed about it, although she’s not sure what, exactly, she’s embarrassed about. Some part of her is whispering that he just thinks she’s a little kid, or that she’s just… stupid, falling for whatever it is he’s playing at.

But she’s not stupid. She’s not.

“You alright, Jamie?” Yaz’s voice draws Jamie out of her reverie, and she catches her friend shooting her a worried look.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Jamie says, and she clears her throat.

“You’ve been proper spacy lately,” Yaz says, but she doesn’t sound reprimanding. “Somethin’ going on?”

“Nah,” says Jamie. “Nothing at all.” 

-*-

He doesn’t text her that night. She’s not sure if she’s relieved or disappointed. She focuses on her homework instead, and even doing work ahead. When she comes up for air, she calls up Yaz, and the two of them have a proper natter. 

Yaz’s sister has been up to some _hijinx_ , and Jamie tries not to let the guilt sting too hard as her best friend tells her about all the things that have been going on. 

“I’ve missed you,” Yaz says, and her face looks wistful in the video call. 

_Twist that knife a little harder, why don’t you_ , Jamie thinks, but she puts on a smile. “I’m right here,” she tells Yaz. “Not goin’ anywhere.”

A little button notification in the corner of her phone screen - Mr. O is texting her. 

She ignores it. Give the prick a taste of his own medicine, see how he likes it. 

-*-

She caves, before she goes to bed - sees what he’s sent her. 

It’s a picture of his fish. Relatively normal. Innocuous, even. Then another text. _Why aren’t you answering?_

_I was on a phone call with Yaz_ , Jamie says, and then she plugs her phone in, setting it face down and burrowing down into her covers. 

She’s restless that night, tossing and turning, and her dreams are full of chasing, and things with sharp teeth. She wakes up earlier than she wants to, sweat sticking to her face, and when she checks her phone, she sees that he hasn’t texted her back. She hates the way her stomach drops at that, but she sighs, passes a hand over her eyes. 

-*-

Yaz is standing in front of Mr. O’s desk, when Jamie gets in. There isn’t anyone else in the classroom, and he’s sitting on the desk, leaning in a little too close. He’s looking at Yaz the way he looks at Jamie sometimes, and she can’t stop the way her stomach is twisting up at the sight. 

“You’re a very intelligent girl, Yaz,” Mr. O says. “You just need to apply yourself a little bit more.” 

Yaz nods. Her body language is stiff, and she shoots Jamie a grateful look, when Jamie clatters in and sets her stuff down onto the desk with a _thump_. 

“You’re here early, Miss Smith,” Mr. O says, and he arches an eyebrow.

“Dad dropped me off,” Jamie says, and then she flushes at the way his eyes dart over her. So she might have worn her skirt a little shorter, and she also might have gone without her tights today. And okay, there’s an extra button undone, but… well. 

She isn’t sure what she is trying to prove. Or who she is trying to prove it to. 

"That was nice of him," Mr. O says, and his tone is sardonic. 

"That's what a dad does," Yaz says, and she sounds unimpressed. "Can I be excused? I need to ask Ms. Noble something."

"Of course," says Mr. O. "But Yaz?"

She looks over her shoulder, already halfway out the door. "Yeah?"

"You're _always_ welcome. My door is always open." He smiles at her, and Jamie bites her lip, her hands balled in to fists. 

_Is he hitting on her?_

Jamie isn't sure what she's feeling right now, but it seems to be boiling up out of her chest, making her throat catch and her eyes well up. "What are you -" she starts to say, and then people are bustling in, other students, and it isn't like she can talk about any of that with any of them around. 

So she sits down, presses her knees together, and takes a book out. If she concentrates very hard on the words in front of her, she doesn't have to think about… well, anything else. She can ignore the blurring of the page in front of her. 

-*-

She doesn't have any classes with him today, thankfully. She more or less sleepwalks through them, but it's fine. Yaz keeps shooting her worried looks, but that's fine too. 

It's all fine. 

She got a jumper on, covering her shirt, and nobody has commented on her bare legs. She even stays extra late in the library after school, because she doesn't want to go back to her room and think about how he just… left her. 

_The sex is so good_ , some embarrassing part of her points out. 

_There'll be other people_ , points out another part. 

_But they won't be him._

She doesn't really have an argument for that. She sighs, rakes her fingers through her hair, and then there’s the sound of footsteps on the lino, and she looks up.

“Burning the midnight oil, are you, Jamie?” Mr. Ian smiles at her. He looks tired.

“Barely even seven,” Jamie protests, glancing at the clock on the wall.

Mr. Ian laughs, and it’s a genuine laugh. “It’s midnight somewhere,” he points out.

“It’s always midnight somewhere,” she counters.

“Regardless of what time it is elsewhere,” he says, “the library is closing now.”

“Oh,” says Jamie, and she blinks down at her book. She hasn’t gotten very far in it - she must have been pretty lost in her thoughts.

“Are you alright, Jamie?” Mr. Ian shoots her a worried look, and it’s similar to the one Yaz was giving her.

She’s getting thoroughly sick of that look.

“I’m fine,” she tells him, and she’s mostly sure she means it.

“You’re a very bright girl, Jamie, and you’ve got a bright future ahead of you.” Mr. Ian watches her pack up her books. “Will you be able to get home alright?”

“I’ll be okay,” Jamie assures him. She’s possibly going to have to ask one of her brothers to give her a ride, but that won’t be too much of a problem, will it? Mum is at home, Dad is at some work thing or another. When she checks her phone, she sees her mum’s response to her saying she was going to stay studying late (“okay, let me know when you’re on your way home”) and... four texts from Mr. O. 

The last one says “I’m sorry,” and that’s a surprise. 

She doesn’t want to deal with that right now. Doesn’t want to deal with _him_ right now. She shoves her phone into her pocket, and she makes her way down the hallway.

“Jamie,” she hears, and it echoes, just a bit. As if thinking of the man conjures him up. She looks over, and he’s sticking his head out of the classroom door. “A word with you?”

“I’ve got to catch the bus,” Jamie says, which is a blatant lie. She’s going to need to call her brother, get a ride home, and he’ll complain the whole time. 

“Just a moment,” he says. There’s a look on his face that’s making her nervous - something about it is making her stomach knot up, and there’s a pressure behind her eyes, as if she’s going to start crying. 

“What is it?” She stops in the middle of the hallway, clutching her coat to her.

“I don’t want to talk about it in the open,” he says, his voice low. 

She flushes. “I’m sure it’s not anything that you can’t say in public,” she says, and she hates how stiff and... prissy she sounds. 

“I wanted to apologize,” he says stiffly, his hands in his pockets, and that makes her go cold, then hot. 

“Oh,” she says, and she takes a step closer to him, then another. She walks into the classroom, and she’s almost _numb_ when he closes the door behind him, draws the blind. 

“I wanted to apologize,” he says again.

“What do you want to apologize for?” There’s some kind of feeling building inside of her, and she doesn’t know if it’s rage, if it’s sadness, if it’s something else. “Do you want to apologize for implying that I’ve been _fucking_ you just so that I could get a good grade, and not just because I… I like doing it? As if I need anything to help me with my grades, since I’m a _great_ student and maybe I just need to stop being distracted.” There are tears dripping down her face, and she hates it. She hates that she cries when she’s angry. “Maybe I need -”

“I’ve been an arse,” he says to her, plain as day and cutting her off, and there’s something shocking about hearing him talk like _that_ , in the classroom. She’s heard him say _much_ filthier things to her.

And yet.

“What?” Lacking anything else to do, she leans against his desk, clutching her coat to her chest. She’s starting to shake, and the tears are still tracking down her face, itchy and ticklish down her chin. 

“An arse,” he says, and he sounds genuinely remorseful. “I’m not…” He clears his throat, runs his hands through his hair, then shoves his hands in his pockets again. “I’m not good with feelings,” he says in a rush. “With dealing with my own. When I start to have feelings for someone, a lot of the time it… it frightens me, and then I get distant.” He clears his throat, rubs his hands together in front of him. He’s standing in front of her like a penitent. “And you’re right, I _am_ distracting you.” 

_He has feelings for me?!_ She’s screaming inside, and her whole face is turning red. 

“Oh,” Jamie says again. _Nice one, genius._

“And… I realized that I must be coming off as really cold,” he says. “I didn’t have the best childhood, when it came to feelings. My parents… well.” He gives a rueful shrug that she can’t read. “I’ve been very lonely, for a very long time,” he says instead, and there’s so much hurt in his voice that it makes her own heart ache. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, although she’s not sure why she’s saying it.

“I should be the one apologizing,” he says. “I understand if you think I’m too much of a scumbag to ever want to talk to me again -”

“I don’t think that,” she says hastily. “I don’t think you’re a scumbag at all,” she says, and now there’s definitely a lump in her throat.

“I should stop distracting you,” he says, and he sounds like his heart is breaking.

“No,” she says, faster than she means to.

“No?” He looks at her, surprised. 

“I don’t… I don’t want to stop,” she says, and her voice is thick. “I just… I don’t want you to accuse me like that again. And I don’t…” She’s got more tears tracking down her face now. Thick, hot tears, and why can’t she just _stop_. “I don’t like when you just leave. When you just…” She trails off.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, and he sounds like he means it. He _drops to his knees_ right there in front of her, and he wraps his arms around her thighs, pressing his face into her stomach. He’s shaking, and she lets her coat drop to the floor, resting a hand on top of his head. “I just…” He trails off. “I’ve been so afraid of my feelings,’ he says, and his voice is quiet. 

She runs her fingers through his hair, trying to absorb what it is that she’s hearing. _He’s been running off because he’s afraid of his feelings for me_ , she thinks, and there’s a breathless quality to the thoughts. 

“I’ll do better,” he says, and she looks down into his face, his eyes brown and limpid. “I want to be better.” He presses a kiss to her jumper, then a little lower, over the waistband of her skirt. “Let me make it up to you,” he says, and he’s looking up at her through his eyelashes.

Her stomach does a little flip, and she’s shaking. “O… okay,” she says, although this feels like a bad idea. They’re in school. They’re not just in school, they’re in his _classroom_ , and she’s in enough shock that she’s letting him pull her coat away, letting him push her skirt up, to bare her polka dotted knickers to the air. 

“You know,” he says, as he spreads her thighs and settles between them, “what I said before was true.”

“What you said before?” She stares down at him. His hair is very dark, compared to the very pale skin of her inner thighs.

“About pretty girls like you deserving to get their clit sucked,” he says, and then he leans forward, pushing the crotch of her knickers to the side and nuzzling his nose against her inner thigh. 

“Oh,” she says thickly. It seems a bit like she’s existing to the left of herself, watching. His tongue is hot and ticklish against her labia, and her fingers sink into his hair as he makes a wet noise against her vulva, his tongue slipping between her folds to press against her entrance.

She lets him push her thighs open wider, and then he’s sliding her knickers off, leaving her bare arse on the desk. He holds her open with his thumbs, as if he’s inspecting her, and she’d die of shame, but she’s still too strangely out of sorts. _I’d like to do this on a bed_ , she thinks, and then she gives a squeaky little moan, as his mouth wraps around her clit and his tongue taps against it.

He’s angled himself so that her foot is pressed against the crotch of his trousers, against his erection. He’s also pulled her shoe off - when? She’s really drifting in and out of it, isn’t she? - and using one hand to press the curve of her foot against the bulge of his cock. 

“I feel so dirty,” he whispers into her cunt, and then he’s on her clit again, sucking it. He needs a shave - his stubble is rough against her inner thighs and her labia, along her perineum. It's rough and uncomfortable, but she's already getting wet, from his saliva and her own arousal. 

Is she aroused? 

The ball of her foot is pressing into the head of Mr. O's cock, and he moans into her cunt. It vibrates, and she shudders. Her chest heaves, and she's sweating down her back.

"You taste so good," he croons, and he opens his mouth wider, takes her vulva into his mouth and _sucks_. 

Her eyes roll back into her head, and her thighs lock around his head. She's leaning back, giving him more room to navigate, and then he's sucking at her clit. Wraps his lips around her clit and sucks it. _Does this make me a pretty girl?_

He gasps against her, and then he's sitting further up, grinding his cock against her bare shin through his trousers. He licks her with a renewed vigor, and he grasps at her calf, humping her leg like a dog. 

She yanks at his hair and she moans as quietly as possible, grinding her hips forward. He is going to make her come. He's going to make her come, and when she sits at her desk and stares at his desk, she'll remember this. She'll remember the hot suction, the desperate flicker of his tongue on her clit and pressing inside of her. 

She comes across his face, her hips juddering forward. There are tears dripping down her face as he keeps sucking, his hips working faster. Then he gasps and goes limp, the fabric against her leg going damp and warm. He stares at her with wide eyes, and he nuzzles into her hand. 

"I'm sorry," he says again. 

"It's okay," she says, and her fingers gently comb through his hair. She likes the way he's looking at her - sweet and... desperate. 

"I'll make it up to you," he says, and he presses a kiss to the palm of her hand. "I promise."

"I believe you," she whispers. 

"Let me make it up to you," he repeats, rubbing his stubbly cheek against her inner thigh. "I've never come like that," he says. "You leave me undone, Jamie. I'm helpless to you." 

"You already did," she points out, and she isn't sure how she feels about the declarations he's making, the sweet look on his face. It makes her heart beat a little faster, and her cheeks get pinker. 

"Come stay with me for the long weekend coming up," he says. "Tell your parents you're going to stay with friends." He presses another kiss to her inner thigh, then he stands up and kisses her gently on the mouth. 

"I… okay," she says, and her tongue is heavy her head fuzzy. 

"Excellent," he says. "How about we get you home? I'll give you a ride." He tucks a piece of hair behind one ear, kisses the top of her head. 

"Thanks," she says, and it feels… odd, sliding down to stand on wobbling legs. She still doesn't have any knickers on - did he put them in his pocket? 

She tries not to think about the emptiness in the depths of her guts. He has apologized, hasn't he? And her heart speeds up when he takes her hand in the car, her whole body full of some kind of sweet warmth. 

_He really does like me_ , she thinks as she waves goodbye and walks up her block. _He likes me, and everything will be fine._


	11. Chapter 11

Friday comes around, and Jamie has a restless energy in her belly all day that makes her fidget in her seat during lessons and miss at least half of what the teachers are saying. She’d told her mum she was staying with Yaz for the weekend, and she has a bag packed with her things stuffed in her gym locker. 

Staying at Mr. O’s… for the _whole_ weekend. It was like… a proper grown-up relationship. 

He texts her during last period, telling her to meet her in his class an hour after school ends. She expected as much, and she doesn’t mind, heading to the library to get started on her homework for the weekend while she waits. She’s too wound up to get much done though, and Jamie doesn’t know if it’s nerves or excitement making her hands shake on her papers. She doesn’t know why she’d be so nervous - she’s been to his flat before. They’ve had sex before. Just something about _staying with him_ for the whole long weekend - spending all that time with just him has her anxious and keyed up. 

His class is empty but for him when she knocks on the door at the time he’d told her, and he smiles at her, throwing his coat on. 

“Ready to go?”

“Yep,” Jamie nods, bouncing on the balls of her feet. 

“I’ve just gotta grab some marking from the staff room,” he tells her, hand on her lower back as he closes his classroom door behind him. 

“No problem.”

The teachers staff room is empty when he swings the door open, and Jamie hovers outside, peeking in. 

Mr. O glances over his shoulder when she doesn’t follow. “Coming in?”

“Can I?”

“There’s nobody else here,” he chuckles. 

Tentatively, Jamie steps inside. It feels… _weird_ to be going into the teacher’s lounge. Forbidden - no students were allowed inside, and it gives her a little thrill to walk in, gazing around herself. 

“It’s bigger than I thought,” she comments. “Oh wow you’ve got a vending machine in here!” She enthuses, skipping over to it. She gasps, pressing her face to the glass. “I love those!” 

“What?” He chuckles, coming over to her. Jamie jabs a finger at the glass. “Caramac bars! I haven’t had one in _years_.”

Mr. O rummages in his pocket with another chuckle, and produces a handful of coins. “Knock yourself out,” he says, handing them to her.

It’s only a couple of quid but Jamie is touched, and beams widely as she shoves the money on the machine and gets three chocolate bars and a bag of crisps. Her yorkie gets stuck, and Mr. O comes over and shakes the machine for her. 

“There’s a knack to it,” he says, retrieving the chocolate and handing it to her. 

“Thanks,” Jamie smiles, leaning up on her tiptoes and pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

She wanders over to the little kitchen area, stuffing her treats in her bag and taking out the caramac bar to open and take a bite from as she pokes about. There’s a coffee machine too, and the cupboards are full of tea, coffee and biscuits. The fridge has various food stuff inside too, although most of them have labels with names on. 

She hoists herself up to perch on the counter next to the sink, eating her caramac bar as Mr. O pulls some things out of his locker and leaves a chunk of papers inside for next week. 

“You know, you guys have it pretty good in here,” Jamie says thoughtfully as she chews. Aside from the kitchen there’s a little table and chairs, and a seating area with three sofas and a few armchairs. All they need is a telly, she thinks. 

“Has to be some perks to the job,” Mr. O shoots over at her lightly.

Jamie tilts her head cheekily. “What, don’t I count?”

He snorts, slamming his locker closed before shouldering his bag and sauntering over to her to come and stand between her legs. “ _You_ are a personal bonus I have no intention of sharing,” he banters back, tapping her on the nose with a finger. She wrinkles it, and holds out her chocolate bar to him.

“Want some?”

“I’ve never tried one of these,” he replies, and holds her hand in his own, leaning in to take a bite from the bar. His eyes meet hers as he does so, and Jamie feels a flutter in her belly. He pulls a face.

“Sickly.”

“I like sickly,” she sticks her tongue out at him. 

“Of course you do,” he rolls his eyes at her fondly, and Jamie feels a surge of affection inside her that spurs her to lean in and press her lips to his. 

He tastes like the caramac bar they’ve shared as he kisses her back, humming quietly, his hands smoothing up over her thighs. Her heart is beating fast and her palms have started to sweat as she curls a hand in his shirt collar to pull him closer. Will she ever stop feeling so _nervous_ around him? She supposes this is what the books and movies always talked about with butterflies. Of course - butterflies in the stomach usually were an indication of being in love and _that_ is a far too big and scary word to think about right now. 

To distract herself, she kisses him harder, shuffling forward on the counter so her pelvis presses to his, looping an arm around his neck as she gives a little moan. Mr. O breaks away from her mouth, panting a bit, and laughs as he shoves a hand through his hair. 

“Save that for when we get back to mine, yeah?” He murmurs, patting her on the behind. He goes to step away, but Jamie clings to him, pulling him back into her with a grin. 

“Wait,” she giggles. 

“What?”

“You’ve got… chocolate,” she pokes his chin just below where there’s a crumb of the caramac bar clinging to the facial hair at the corner of his mouth, and then feeling bold, Jamie leans in and licks it off. “It’s this beard,” she teases playfully, raking her fingernails lightly over his jaw. 

“You like my beard,” he shoots back. 

“Do I?”

He turns his head, pressing his mouth to her ear. “Didn’t feel like you were complaining about it when my face was pressed between your legs.”

Jamie gasps, arousal pooling inside her, and her fingers curl against his jaw, toes tingling, and she is just about to open her mouth to respond when the sudden sound of the handle being opened on the staff room door has her stomach plummeting, and Mr. O tearing himself away from her. 

She scrambles off the counter just as it swings open, and she can only stare in horror as Ms. Noble walks in and stops short. 

“Oh!”

“Evening Donna - I was just looking for some papers I graded earlier this week, I seem to have misplaced Miss Smith’s,” Mr. O says calmly where he stands with his bag on the table, rooting through - and how is he so _together!?_ “You haven’t seen any lying around have you?”

“Oh… no, I haven’t.” Ms. Noble glances between Mr. O and Jamie, and god she hopes her face isn’t as red and her lips aren’t as kiss swollen as they feel. She frowns. “You know… students really aren’t allowed in here.”

Jamie opens her mouth to respond but Mr. O beats her to it. 

“My fault,” he says easily, “It was empty and I told her to come in while I searched for her work. Aha!” He says, pulling a marked paper from his bag. “What do you know, it was in here all along.”

He crosses the floor and hands her the paper, and Jamie takes it shakily, manages to fumble out a “thank you” she hopes sounds convincing. 

“Well, I’m off for the weekend then,” He says, shouldering his bag. “Have a good one Donna. How’s your dad doing, by the way?”

“Much better thanks,” she replies, as Jamie fidgets, completely lost with whether she should just scamper out or stay put until she’s excused. “I’m off to visit him this weekend.”

“That’s great, I’m pleased to hear that,” he gives her a charming smile. “Well, I’ll see you Tuesday.”

“Yeah, see ya,” she replies as Mr. O opens the door and motions Jamie through. 

“Oh and - I appreciate you not mentioning this,” he says, and leans in as if to speaks quietly so Jamie can’t catch it - “Miss Smith is a brilliant student, she’s just been having some personal issues at home lately - I wouldn’t want her getting in any further trouble, especially when it wasn’t her fault.”

“Oh - not at all. No harm was done,” Donna smiles, and Mr. O nods at her before leaving the staff room and starting to walk briskly down the hall with Jamie hurrying to keep up. 

“Shit,” she mutters when they’re a little way down and her legs feel like jelly. “That was so cl -”

He stops her with a firm shake of his head and a frown, and she falls quiet, understanding that he doesn’t want to risk discussing anything while they’re still within the school building. 

Shit. She hopes he’s not mad at her. 

“Sorry for misplacing your paper,” he says instead out loud, and Jamie clears her throat. 

“No problem,” she replies. The paper he’d handed her wasn’t even hers, but she stuffs it in her bag as they walk anyway. 

"Um… thanks again for the ride, Mr. O," Jamie says, swinging her bag over her shoulder as the two of them make their way through the empty hallways. It feels like playacting - it _is_ playacting, since it isn't like there's anyone around to hear except maybe the caretaker, and he's off with a newspaper in his supply closet like always. 

"Goin' in the same direction," he says, and he catches her eye and winks. 

She blushes, looks down at her own feet. Her stomach is still all twisted up and fluttery, and the panic from nearly getting caught with him is still making her legs weak. She’s glad he doesn’t seem to be mad at her for it anyway. 

He catches her eye, and he winks. "You got fun plans for the long weekend?" The two of them are walking out the door now, and his hands are in his pockets. It's so cold out that his breath is a misty plume in front of him, like a gust of cigarette smoke. She remembers being little, and her brothers miming smoking like their grandfather, using a twig and exhaling hard enough to wheeze during the cold. 

The memory is oddly poignant, and she fights back the lump in her throat. She glances at him again, and sees his eyes flicking from her mouth to her eyes, then lower, to where her breasts would be visible if she wasn't bundled in her winter coat. 

"Nah," she says, as they make their way down the empty parking lot. "Mostly plannin' on sleeping and reading."

"Sounds restful," he says, as they reach his car. 

"Yeah," she says. There's a pause, and then she pitches her little duffel bag into the back seat, and climbs into the front seat. The car is cold, and she shivers, rubbing her hands together. When she glances over at him in the driver's seat, she flushes, remembering straddling his lap, the feel of his cock pressing into her as hot and solid as an iron poker.

"Let's get you off, then," he says, and he's smirking as he says it, clearly so proud of his innuendo. 

She resists the urge to roll her eyes, resists the urge to poke him in the arm. It wouldn't do to be seen as overly familiar, when they're still in the school parking lot.

Sometimes she doesn't entirely _get_ him. He's willing to eat her out on his desk or fuck her face in the school library, but god forbid anyone see her poke him in the arm when the two of them are sitting together in his car. The windows are already starting to steam up, as the frigid air inside warms up. 

"What d'you want for dinner?" His voice is low. 

"I'm good with most takeaway," she says, rubbing her hands together and pulling her coat a little tighter. His car is on the older side, and it chuffs and chugs as he turns it on, warming it up slowly. "Good with most food, really," she adds, her expression thoughtful. "Just don't like pears."

"Why don't you like pears?" He glances at he sidelong, and she finds herself blushing, looking down at her knees covered by her school skirt. She's not wearing tights again (she should be wearing tights, her legs are _freezing_ ), and she's acutely aware of his eyes trailing up her knee. 

"They're soft," she says, and she's still blushing as they begin to drive out of the school parking lot. The sky is glowering down at them, and it looks like it's going to snow soon. 

"You prefer hard things, eh?" She glances over at him, and she sees that he's smirking.

She blushes harder, as heat pools deep in her belly, and she presses her thighs together. "Something like that," she mumbles, and she's biting her lower lip. Her nipples are getting hard, and her exposed skin is starting to tingle, even with the cold. 

His hand is very warm when it rests on her thigh, and she glances over at him. He lives a bit away from the school, and it feels like she's beginning a great journey, like the beginning of a movie. 

It doesn't make sense, since all she's doing is spending three nights over at his flat, and yet. 

He glances at her and he smiles, his teeth very white, and the giddiness that seems to be filling the car seems to get sharper. His warm hand squeezes her cold thigh, and the arousal sharpens as well. 

"So," he says, "what d'you want for dinner?"

"I like curry," she says, and he laughs, squeezes her thigh again, a little higher this time. It's like a weight, and she's torn between wanting to press her thighs together and wanting to spread them wide. 

"I remember you telling me," he says. "Your brothers always want to order pizza and you always want to order curry, so your parents order Chinese."

She smiles at him, pleased he remembers all the little minutiae of her life. Sometimes she worries that she bores him, since she doesn't really do anything _exciting_ , as young as she is. Then a wave of anxiety spills over her, like ice dropped down her back. 

The words are out of her mouth before she has a chance to think; "do you think I'm boring?"

He glances at her, frowning, and he gives her leg another squeeze. She wants to smooth out the furrow between his eyebrows, but it'd be a bad idea to reach out towards his face while he's driving. "Where'd you get a daft idea like that?"

"I just... worry," she says. "Since we aren't, y'know, typical." She fiddles with the hem of her skirt, twisting it against the pads of her fingers. It's a euphemism he's used with her before - _not like I can take you out on dates, since we're not typical_ \- and she wonders if it stings him the same way it stings her.

"Why on Earth would I ever want to be _typical_?" Another squeeze, and then his hand is out from under her skirt, over her own hand. He laces their fingers together, and when she looks up his arm, into his face, she sees that his eyes are soft and warm. 

She smiles at him, and whatever anxiety has been clenching up in the pit of her stomach seems to relax. She runs her thumb along the top of his hand, and he gives her another squeeze, then puts both hands back on the wheel. 

"So... what d'you wanna do this weekend?" The silence seems to be getting louder, as if her anxiety is just trying to find a new outlet, and out of her mouth is as good as any other. 

"Other than you?" He's smirking, and this time she does roll her eyes and jab him in the shoulder. "Oh, c'mon, you let it wide open for me."

"Only if you've got that kind of mind," she huffed. 

"So you don't like my mind, then?" He teases. "Or are you just after me for my body?" 

She flushes all the way to her hairline, clears her throat. "That's, uh, that's not what I meant."

"So you _do_ like my body, then?" He's using that tone that always gets on her nerves, as if he's making fun of her and she's just a little too dim to understand that. 

"I like all of you," she says, looking him straight in the face. 

Sometimes she forgets that they're almost the same height. He's short, compared to all the other male teachers, and she's one of the taller girls in her year. He always looms so big in her mind, or... well, on top of her. 

"I like all of you too," he says, and there's so much sincerity in his voice it makes her chest ache all over again. "D'you like horror movies," he adds, almost as an afterthought. 

"I don't dislike 'em," she says. "D'you?"

" _Love_ 'em," he says. "Let's say we get back to mine, order up some dinner, watch a movie?"

"That sounds nice," Jamie says, and she means it. It feels... domestic. Almost grown up - _I'm going to go watch a movie and eat takeaway in my boyfriend's flat_ , she thinks, and she's smiling to herself. 

"I'm glad I'm getting to spend the time with you," he says, breaking the silence again. "It'd be pretty lonely, spending a bank holiday by myself."

"D'you not have other friends to spend time with? Family?" It isn't a thing that they talk about often. He lets her talk about herself, but he's somewhat reticent about his own background.

"Not really, no," he says, and then his hand is on her leg again, and she squirms, letting her legs gape open a little wider. She's trod on some kind of forbidden territory and she doesn't know what it is, exactly, but she wants to skirt away from it.

"So what kinda horror movie are we watching?" She puts her hand on top of his, and she can see some of the tension drain out of his shoulders. 

"It depends," he says. "How d'you feel about blood and guts?" 

"I mean," says Jamie, "it depends?"

He smiles at her, all teeth. "I'll have to introduce you to some classics," he says, and she's not sure she likes the way he's looking at her. 

She tries to smile back, at least. 

-*-

She's expecting him to ravish her when she gets inside, the way he has in the past. To be shoved into his closed front door, as he fucks her with the frenzied desperation that's frightening and exciting in turn. 

Instead, he helps her out of her boots, hangs her coat up on the back of the door. He goes straight to his kitchen in his purple socks, putting the kettle on. “Come warm your bones,” he says, and it makes her smile in spite of herself. 

“Make yourself comfy,” he says, and he stretches with his arms above his head. His shirt begins to untuck, and then she can see the bare skin of his side, before he settles back down. He catches her looking, and he raises an eyebrow. 

She flushes, looking down, and clears her throat. 

“You can borrow some of my stuff,” he says, and she kind of wants to tell him she brought some normal, _not_ uniform clothes, but he’s looking at her in such a way that makes her stomach twist up in interesting ways. 

"Okay," she says, and she follows his pointed finger towards what must be his bedroom.

"Bottom drawer of the bureau," he calls from the kitchen. 

"Thanks," she calls back, as her own socked feet sink into the thick carpet covering his bedroom floor. 

The last time she was here, they sat on the couch to watch a movie, and then he... well. She flushes at the memory, dropping her bag on the floor by the bed. It's such a _big_ bed, with a dark blue duvet and light blue sheets, and she has a picture of herself in it, like a toy boat lost at sea. 

The image is oddly poignant, and she rubs her hands together, suddenly self conscious. There's a loneliness to standing in someone else's bedroom by yourself, and she shivers, going to grab a pair of grey joggers and a big purple jumper from the drawer. On impulse, she takes her shirt off, and the soft fabric is sumptuous against her bare belly, the sensitive skin of her back. The joggers drag on the floor, when she walks - they must be too big on him as well, and that's a weird thing to think about.

"Look at you," he says, when she comes in. He's still in his trousers, but now the tails of his shirt are hanging out, and his sleeves are rolled up. He looks... handsome, in a domestic sort of way. He's holding a blue mug out to her, with steam curling out of it. "I remember how you like your tea," he tells her, and he smiles, his floppy hair almost covering one eye.

_I think I'm in love with him_ , she thinks, and unlike earlier when it had been a flitter of a idea through her head, the thought is clear and intense enough now to make her whole face flush dark red. 

He ruffles her hair like she's his kid sister and is off to the bedroom himself. "Make yourself comfortable," he calls from his bedroom, and she goes to sit on the sofa, curling her feet up under her. Looking out the window, she can see that the snow has begun to fall, fat flakes like drips of ice cream. 

The whole scene feels... cozy. It's already getting dark out, and the lamps are casting a golden light, syrupy and thick as honey. She sips her tea, and she sighs as some of the anxiety that's been building in the pit of her stomach is starting to dissipate. She listens to the quiet sounds of him off in his bedroom, and then he's coming out in his own comfortable clothes, an old pair of jeans that look deceptively soft and a deep purple jumper.

"So," he says, and he flops onto the couch with her, nearly making her spill her tea, "got any homework?"

She wrinkles her nose. "You sound like such a _teacher_ ," she complains, and she leans into him as he wraps an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer. 

"I _am_ your teacher," he reminds her, as his hand moves to her belly, worming its way under the soft fabric of the jumper. His hand is cooler than her skin, and she shivers. He's grinning, his mouth against her temple, and she squirms, so that she can rest her head on his chest.

They don't get to... cuddle like this that often. All of their various dalliances have mostly been in his car or in dark corners at school. There's always a time limit of some kind hanging over their heads, and now they have _three_ glorious days with each other. 

"We don't have to be teacher and student this weekend," she says, and her voice is coming out quieter than usual. "We can be... whatever we want to be."

He sighs, and it's a deep, long sound. It seems to resonate through his whole chest, and it ruffles her hair. "It isn't that simple," he says, and then his hand is creeping up her side, his cold fingers ticklish.

She squirms, her head still on his chest, and she presses her thighs together. Arousal is starting to gather low in her belly, but it's a lazy sort of arousal. She isn't sure if she wants to do anything about it, or if she wants to just bask in the comfort of his body heat and the little isolated world of the flat. 

She feels him frown when he feels the fabric of her bra under his fingertips, and then he's wrangling around, towards her back. There's a moment where the fabric is pulled taut, and then it goes loose, and the hook of the clasp presses against her back.

"Why'd you do _that_ for?" She wrinkles her nose, sitting up, putting her tea to the side and looking at him crossly as she fiddles with the clasps behind her back.

"Can't be comfortable, wearing that," he says, "and since it's undone you might as well get it off, right?" 

She rolls her eyes. "You're not subtle, y'know that?" She shimmies it off, and she's about to get up to put it in her bag when he takes it, puts it off to the side. 

"You're one to talk," he says, as he pulls her close to him again. His jumper is made of something very soft, and she rubs her cheek against it, listening to the quiet sounds of his breathing, his stomach. She's growing drowsy, her eyes heavy, and his hand is soothing as it rubs her back, then her hair, fingertips trailing over her scalp.

"I always am," she says, aware that it's nonsense but not really caring. She's just so _comfortable_. 

-*-

Jamie wakes up with a fuzzy head, blinking in the half-light. His hand is still resting on her head, and his stomach is moving up and down slowly, gently. His heart is beating under her ear, and his sweater is soft and fuzzy against her cheek.

She lies like that for almost a minute, cradled in warmth and cuddled up to him. Then he shifts, and there’s the sound of a yawn.

He stretches, and his back arches, pressing his belly into her ear. “I didn’t realize we were both so tired,” he says, and his voice is resonating through her head, where her ear is pressed into his belly.

“It was a long day,” she murmurs. “But I’ve been looking forward to this all week.”

It’s embarrassing, to admit to that, but… well, he can’t see her face. If he can’t see her face, she doesn’t have to meet his eyes, doesn’t have to think about what she’s saying. 

“Yeah?” He traces the shell of her ear. “Never done a thing like this before, I must say.”

She shivers, more goose bumps moving up and down her back. She curls her toes in her socks (his socks), and she stretches. She looks up at him, and the look on his face is so tender it makes her chest hurt. 

“No?” 

“Nope,” he says. “It isn’t just your first time, then.” He smiles at her, and there’s something about the way he’s looking at her is making her stomach twist up like a bag full of rats.

“I’m hungry,” she says. “Fancy we order some dinner?” Maybe that will help her feel better.

“That sounds good,” he says, and he pats her on the shoulder. “Let me up, I’ll get my laptop.”

She rubs her eyes, and the two of them seem to be sitting in their one little island in the middle of nowhere. 

_We should run away together_ , bubbles up in the back of her throat. _We should run off and get married, go someplace with a different age of consent, we should just run away together so that it’s like this forever._

She opens her mouth to say something… and then she closes it. No. That would be weird.

“So what d’you want?” He sits on the couch next to him, and he’s got his laptop in his lap.

“I trust you,” she says, and maybe he senses what she means, because he’s looking at her with some kind of intensity.

He squeezes her knee, and she covers his hand up with her own, and squeezes it back.

-*-


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has drunken sex that's leaning pretty heavily on the "dubious" end of dub-con. Also anal. A lot of anal. And rimming. As always, proceed with caution!

“Why d’you have two glasses of wine?” Jamie frowns at the coffee table at the glass half full (half empty?) with red wine. 

“It’d be rude of me to have a glass without sharing,” he says. “Have a drink before the food gets here, so you can properly enjoy it.” He takes a sip of his own wine, and she picks up her own glass. 

“Aren’t I too young?” She flushes even as she says it, because… wow, that’s immature, isn’t it?

“I’ve always been… open minded,” he says. “I drank when I was your age.” He takes a sip of his wine, and he wraps an arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer.

She nearly spilled wine down her front, and then she took a sip of it. “ _Urgh_.”

He laughs, and it’s a deep, belly laugh. She’s not sure she likes that laugh. “Not to your taste, then?”

“That’s disgusting,” she says, wrinkling her nose.

“Just finish it,” he says, his hand going to the back of her neck. “I won’t make you drink another one.”

“Do I have to?” She looks down at the glass, then up at his face. He still looks like he’s going to start laughing at her again, and it’s beginning to make her angry. It’s chasing away the nice feelings from before. 

“I already poured it,” he says. “Not like I can put it back in the bottle.”

“Why not?” She sniffs the wine, wrinkles her nose, takes a slug of it and swallows it down. _Ew_.

“Well, for one, it’d get everywhere when I poured it.” he says. He sips his own wine, and looks genuinely amused at the face she pulls when she takes another drink. “You’re taking that like a kid doing medicine,” he says. 

“You could use a funnel.” she points out. Another slug, and the glass is now almost empty. 

“Why d’you think I’ve got a funnel?” He’s drawing little circles on the back of her neck, and it’s making her shiver. 

“It’s one of those things,” she says. “Doesn’t everyone have a funnel?” 

“D’you?”

“Well, no, but I don’t have my own kitchen.” She takes her final slug, and there isn’t any more wine in the glass, and she wrinkles her nose. There’s a bitter, astringent taste on the back of her tongue, and she wants to get a drink of water to get it off. 

“I’ll get you something else to drink,” he says, and he kisses the top of her head. ‘Choose something to watch for us, will you?”

She nods, although _wow_ , that makes everything spin, doesn’t it? She leans back into the couch, propping her feet up onto the coffee table. Her stomach is a little unhappy with her, but that doesn’t matter, all that matters is the fact that she’s sitting here and everything is _spinning._

“Here you go,” he says, and he’s handing her a glass of something fizzy. Something fizzy and it smells like… raspberries? 

“What is that?” She sits up, and she takes a sip of the drink. This, at least, is less bitter.

“Something you might like a little better,” he says. “Lambic,” he adds. “Fruit beer.”

“Fruit beer,” she echoes, and she takes another sip. “Thank you.”

“I thought you’d like that,” he says, and he smiles at her with his eyes crinkling up at the edges. The irritation dies in her throat, replaced by more affection, and she takes another sip.

“Thanks,” she says, and she lets the sweetness settle on her tongue, the bubbles fizz up her nose. 

She can't entirely taste the alcohol on this one, and the sweetness almost reminds her of pop. Truthfully, she'd rather have a glass of water, but it seems like a lot to ask for. She feels like he's going to laugh at her, if she asks, so she just drinks more of the sweet raspberry beer. 

When the food arrives, she's not even sure if she's hungry, since she's still so... loopy from the alcohol. Is it supposed to make her stomach churn like this, make her head spin? She eats what he ordered her, and she leans against him and drinks glass after glass as he pours it for her. The bottle itself is big and green, with a yellow label. 

The movie playing isn't very good. At least, she doesn't think it's that good. She's having a bit of trouble keeping up with the plot, and it's nicer to just lean against Mr. O and let herself feel the beat of his heart, let herself just float on this little island of dizziness. His arm is around her shoulder, and his stubbly cheek is rubbing against her temple, and then some more time has passed, and somehow she's lying on her back.

He's kissing her, and his mouth tastes like wine, like the chicken he'd been eating. His tongue is in her mouth and her back is against the arm of the sofa, and then she's not wearing his sweater anymore, and the sweater he's wearing is soft against her nipples. 

"That went straight to your head, didn't it?" His tone is teasing, and he's _chuckling_ as he sucks her earlobe into his mouth. "You're adorable."

"'m not," she grumbles, and she lets her head drop back as he mouths lower, nipping at her neck, then her shoulder. "I'm... mm..."

She's got her fingers in his hair, and it seems like she's in a film that keeps getting sped up. She's holding him, and then he's kissing lower, sucking on her nipple, then nipping at her belly. She's not sure how they've gotten to this point - why is he still wearing all his clothes? There's cool air on her legs, and she blinks, because now she's not wearing any trousers. How did that happen?

"Jamie," he says, and she looks at him, frowning. 

"Mr. O?"

"Still with me?" He passes a hand across her bare belly, and it's ticklish enough that she squirms, her knees digging into his sides. 

"Where else would I be?" She squeaks, when he mouths at her other nipple.

"You have the most _amazing_ tits," he says, his tone casual. "I still can't believe that I get to play with them whenever I want to."

"Well," she says, "not _whenever_ you want to." She lifts her hips up for him, as there's more maneuvering, and then she's completely naked but for her socks. 

"No?" He jiggles her breasts, and then he nips one, which makes her squirm some more, her hips rocking forward. "You don't always want my hands on you?" 

"I do," she says, although she isn't sure if that's true or not, "but... sometimes you can't. When we're in public. Or at school."

"I guess the answer to that is that we shouldn't let you out," he says, and she's drunk enough that she can't tell if he's being serious or not. She blinks down at him from between her breasts, and he smiles at her, then sucks a hickey into the soft skin on the side of one breast. The little shock of pain makes her pulse between the legs, and she whines in the back of her throat.

"I'd need to go out sometimes," she murmurs. "'s'good for the... the wossname."

"The wossname," he echoes, and he plants a wet, sloppy kiss on her belly, right under her navel. "You're adorable," he says. "I should get you drunk more often." He kisses lower, shifting on the couch, until he's got his mouth right over the spot where the hair on her mound starts. "I'm going to keep you," he tells her, and then he's forcing her legs wider, until she has one foot flat on the floor and the other thrown over the back of the couch. 

She's so _open_ like this, and she knows logically that he's seen her like this, but it's so... intimate, and she squirms, flushing. She's already aware of how wet she is, smeared across her thighs and dripping down her perineum. She shudders as he nips at her inner thigh, and then he's licking her, his lips fastened around her clit. 

She sinks into the pleasure like it's a hot bath. He's _very_ good at that, at licking her and making her come across his face. She's started to crave it, thinking about his tongue against her when she's sitting in his class or lying in bed. It's so much better to _feel_ it, instead of imagine. It's a little bit like drowning, in the best way possible. 

Or maybe that’s just being drunk. 

"I can't get enough of you," he murmurs into the softness of her cunt. "You're so beautiful, Jamie. So _lush_ , so ripe." He sucks on her vulva, shoving his tongue between her labia and lapping at her clit. 

_Am I a person or a pear?_ Jamie thinks, her hands in his hair to keep him in place. "I don't like pears," she gasps out. 

He pauses, lifts his head up to look at her from between her legs. "What?" His lips are shiny from eating her out, and that sends a gush of wetness from inside of her. She shivers. 

"Pears," she repeats. "I don't like pears." 

"Good to know," he says, and then he's lifting her hips up, nearly folding her in half. Her knees are pointing towards her chest, and her toes are curling up towards the ceiling. 

_This is new_ , she thinks muzzily, and then he's licking her again, sliding between her labia, into her cunt. He can see _everything_ , and she isn't sure how she feels about it, but oh, his tongue is everywhere. It keeps drifting lower, and she isn't sure how to feel about that either, but it feels so good, so hot and slippery as it wriggles along the cheeks of her arse, and then…

"Wait!" She hates how her voice squeaks, as she wriggles. His tongue is _in_ her arse now, wriggling. Hot and slick and she hasn't had any chance to adjust to it, because he's fucking her with it. 

She hasn't ever put anything up her arse before - she's seen it in a few videos, but it's always been a bit too… weird for her. But now he's… oh _fuck_ , that's definitely his tongue inside of her, and now his thumb is passing over her clit, again and again. 

She's crying as she comes, and the whole room is spinning around her. He doesn't let up, lapping at her hole, and then his fingers are inside of her, curling forward and pressing on… something. There are lights behind her eyes, and there's a finger being pressed into some other part of her - is that her arse or her cunt? She's too drunk to tell, or maybe she's just feeling too _full_ to be able to tell whatever is going on. 

She comes again, and then there isn't anything in her arse, but he's shifting against her, and he's on top of her. When did that happen? She blinks up at him, and he's breathing on her face - his breath smells like her, like wine. She turns her face away when he moves in to kiss her, and he huffs in amusement. 

His cock at least is familiar. He presses it against her wet, open arse, and she makes a noise, squirming away. 

"Don't worry, baby," he says, and he's chuckling as he says it. "I know you're not ready for that yet." He gives her asshole another teasing nudge, the head pressing against the rim, and then he's moving it, to slide into her cunt.

She grunts, her eyes screwed shut and her mouth falling open. He's so _big_ inside of her, and when he pushes all the way in, she shudders, clenching around him. He's filling her up, and that's not... new, per se, although it's only the third or fourth time they've done this. But oh, her head is being jostled unpleasantly when he moves his hips like that, but she's so relaxed around him, as she clenches and rolls her own hips.

"Good girl," he croons, and he's breathing on her face, which is... less than pleasant, but his stubble is nice against her neck, and he's grinding himself against her in such a way as to stimulate her clit, which makes her wetter, and the slide of him inside of her seems to be filling her whole world. "Such a good girl for Daddy..."

_Wait, Daddy?_ That sounds like something out of a porno, and she blinks at him, but then his mouth is on her neck, and she doesn't care anymore, because whatever he's doing is making her flutter and pulse around him, and her heels are digging into his calves. 

"You gonna come for me?" He nips her earlobe, then sucks on it, and her whole body goes _rigid_ , as she begins to shudder her way through an orgasm. It sends her someplace soft and... floating, spinning. She's not really paying attention, but then he's gasping in her ear, and there's warmth inside of her, a flood of it. His heart is beating against hers, so fast it's like there's two of them, and she blinks up at him.

"God," he breathes, "Jamie, you're so amazing..." His hair is sweaty and sticking to his face, his eyes are very dark. She lets her own eyes slide shut, as the dizziness sweeps over her, yanking her down into it like undertow. 

She wakes up - sort of - when he's helping her to bed. She thinks maybe she has another orgasm - or maybe not? She has the memory of his head between her legs, his hair soft, biting into her fingers while she pulls on it, his mouth wet and sloppy on her cunt, or maybe in her arse? She can't tell. The sheets are cool against her, and she drifts off again, the big body between her legs keeping her on land before she gets lost at sea.

Or something like that. Her thoughts are starting to get incoherent, and she's asleep before she has a chance to really fiddle with it. 

-*-

She wakes up at some unknown hour, her whole body on fire, her stomach heaving. She trips towards the toilet (thank fuck she remembers where the toilet is), and she throws up explosively, painfully. It burns, and maybe some of it is coming out of her nose, but the sound of her gagging is very loud, and seems to echo off of the tiles of the bathroom.

There are footsteps behind her, and there's a wild moment of wondering what, exactly, is going on, and then there are hands in her hair, keeping it back. A hand on her back, and some distant part of her is worried that he'll never want to kiss her again, seeing her throwing up like this. But he's making soothing noises, rubbing her back in soothing little circles. 

"I know," he says, and she sits back on her heels, panting. Her face is wet with the tears that seem to be forced up with the bile, and when he hands her a cup of water she drinks half of it, spits the rest. He flushes, helps her up, and he's kept the lights off, which makes it easier. 

"You must think -" She begins.

"Proper right of passage," he interrupts, and he sounds amused. "It wouldn't be a proper first tipple if you don't get violently sick the first time." He ruffles her hair, and he hands her a toothbrush. She can smell the intense mint of the toothpaste already on it, and she brushes her teeth blearily, her head throbbing. 

She takes another glass of water, drinks it down, and she lets herself be led off towards the bed. The way he tucks her in is tender, and she sighs when he wraps himself around her, his chin on her shoulder and his nose in her hair. 

"I'm sorry," she mumbles, still slightly wobbly, emotionally if not physically. 

"Don't be," he says, and he presses a kiss to the top of her head. 

-*- 

Jamie wakes up with a fuzzy head and a churning stomach. Mr. O (she really _should_ call him Killian) is curled up on his side, his back to her. The light drifting in through the curtains looks pale, as if it's being filtered in through wads of cotton. 

Jamie goes to the toilet, brushes her teeth again, has a drink of water. She looks herself in the mirror, and is faintly surprised that she doesn't look that different. She's slightly sore between the legs- she remembers having sex with Mr. O last night, but was it rough enough to leave her pussy aching? 

It is a nice ache - when she thinks about it, she pulses between the legs, just a little. She gives herself a smile in the mirror, and then she makes her way back to bed. Back to bed, where someone else is sleeping. Where her _lover_ is sleeping, and thinking about that makes her stomach light up like she's swallowed fireflies. 

She's still smiling as she climbs back into the sheets and pulls the blanket back over herself. She isn't wearing anything on her lower half, and the sweater is too warm - she sits up and tosses it away, and then she is _completely naked_ , and he's right there. She gets a tight little shiver, deep down in her cunt, and she presses her thighs together and let's herself drift back off to sleep, surrendering herself to hazy, indistinct dreams. 

She's woken up some unknown time later to a warm body pressing against her own, something hot and sticky dragging against her thigh. There's a hand on her breast, pinching her nipple, and a hot, wet mouth sucking on her earlobe. 

"Hello," Mr. O murmurs in her ear, and his chest hair is ticklish against her bare back. She squirms, pressing herself back against him, and he chuckles pressing his cock between her thighs. "I was beginning to think you'd be waking up with my cock already in you."

She gives a full bodied shudder, and it morphs into a moan as he tweaks her nipple. She's already wet between the legs, and his cock is so _solid_ , rubbing along the line of her labia, the head bumping against her clit. She grinds back against him, pressing her thighs tighter together. 

He grunts, pulls her against his chest, and his hips roll forward. He's panting into her hair, and he's holding on to one breast, kneading it. "You're so warm," he murmurs, and he kisses her ear again, a little harder this time, and it's loud enough to be uncomfortable. She jerks away, and he pulls her close. They're both naked, and she doesn't know if she's ever felt this naked with another person before. His sweat is slick against her back, or maybe it's her sweat against his chest, but it drags across her, leaves her writhing and panting as he humps up against her. 

His cock presses into her cunt, and she groans, and lets him lift her leg up, spreading her wider as he pushes in with a slow, easy roll of his hips. He grunts again, and his hand goes down, to hold on to her lower belly. 

"Fuck," she gasps, and he chuckles, his cock flexing inside of her.

"You're so cute when you swear," he tells her, and he mouths along her neck, then thumbs her nipple. He thrusts into her shallowly, flicking her nipple idly with his thumb. He chuckles, and he rolls his hips again. "You're clenching around me, whenever I do that," he says.

"Feels good," she says, and her voice is high and squeaky in her own ears. 

"You know what would feel even better?" He's thrusting into her, still, the kind of deep thrusts that make her breasts jiggle and her teeth clack in her head. "Even _better_ than this tight, wet cunt of yours?"

She groans, and she squeezes tighter around him. When he talks like that, it makes her whole body _clench_ like a fist, and she groans. He moves his hand down, to rub her clit, and he's thrusting a little harder, a little faster. 

Then... he pulls out, and she's makes a disappointed noise, but he's still rubbing her clit, and then his cock is pushing between the cheeks of her arse, it's pressing against the rim of her arsehole, 

"Mr. O?" Jamie's voice is thick. "What are you doing?" She tries to wriggle away, but he's worked another hand under her, keeping her in place as the thick head of his cock breaches her, stretches her open. 

"Sh," he says, right in her ear. "It'll feel so good, I promise." He pauses, halfway inside of her, and she shivers, and her clit is _still_ being rubbed, with just enough force to make her toes curl and her hips wiggle. It's pushing him a little deeper inside of her, and she's not sure if she likes it or not, but it feels... interesting. “Unless you want me to stop?” 

“What?” Jamie’s voice cracks. He starts to roll his hips, pushing himself a little deeper, and Jamie whimpers. 

“I can stop, if you really want me to,” he says, and he begins to pull his cock out of her, then pushes it back in, a little deeper. He pinches her clit, gently, and she squeals and her cunt flutters, her arse flutters around him. He’s almost all the way inside of her now, and she’s breathing heavily as he fucks into her. “You’re so tight,” he says, right in her ear. “Tight and hot and like velvet inside. I don’t think if I’ve ever felt anything this good in my _life_ , fuck, Jamie…”

He bites her on the shoulder, and she cries out, her whole body on edge. She’s trembling, and she’s going to _come_ , how has she gotten that close already, she doesn’t even know if she likes it but it’s making her whole body tight and hot and desperate. She bites her lip and she grinds back against him, as the blunt pressure of his cock in her arse keeps pushing her forward.

Jamie comes around him, and she’s not sure why she’s so _ashamed_ , but it washes over there like a wave, and he makes a desperate, gutted noise, his chest vibrating against her back as he moans awkwardly.

She lets him push her onto her belly, her whole body still trembling with the aftershocks, and then he's fucking her arse in earnest, and yes, she thinks she likes it - she’s leaving a wet spot on the sheets, on her own belly, and his cock is wet with it, she’s so _sticky_ with it, and then he groans over her, and he’s filling her arse with his own hot, wet, sticky come. 

He collapses on top of her, and abruptly, he’s too big, he’s like an oversized blanket, and she wriggles to get him out of her, off of her. She rolls out from under him, flat on her back, and she pants up at the ceiling, looking him in the face. There’s some complex emotion bubbling up in her chest, and her stomach is still churning. 

“Wow,” he says, and his voice is thick. “You know… I’ve never had a girl let me do that before.” He’s looking at her with _luminous_ eyes, and she leans over to kiss him on the mouth, because she’s so full of some emotion that she has to share it. “That was amazing,” he says to her. 

“I liked it too,” she says, and she’s almost certain she means it. 

“We should shower,” he says, and he pats her on the hip. He doesn't make any noise of protest when she crowds closer though, just lifts his arm and lets her rest her head on his chest.

She rubs her cheek against his chest hair, and she lets her eyes flutter closed. She’ll have to get up soon - use the bathroom, wash the sweat from her hair and the come from inside her arse. But for the moment, she lets herself listen to the beat of his heart, surrounded by the scent of his skin and their joining.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy cow we've got a full NaNoWriMo worth of fic! And we still ain't done!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's some choking in here, for a heads up!

When Jamie blinks her eyes open again, she realises she must have drifted to sleep in Mr O’s arms. She stretches, rolling over in the nest of duvet and sheets that smell like him and sex, and blinks a little blearily when she catches on that the bed is empty save for her. She realises the shower is running in the adjoining bathroom, and after grabbing her phone to check the time, she drops it back down next to his on the nightstand and flops back down in bed. 

Despite the extra hour or so of sleep, she’s still tired, and achy in all sorts of new places, and Jamie groans a bit, nestling into the covers and letting her eyes slide closed again. 

She jumps a few moments later by the sound of a phone ringing - not hers - she doesn’t have that ringtone, and besides it’s always on silent anyway (especially since her and Mr O had started communicating). She pulls herself up to grab his phone off the nightstand, blinking at the ‘ _ private number’  _ lit up on the screen. 

The shower is still running, and without thinking about it, Jamie presses answer and lifts the phone to her ear.

“Hello?”

It’s a bad line, and she can’t quite make out what’s being said.

“Who?” She asks.

“Speak… -on -... please?”

“Umm sorry, do you want Mr - Killian? He’s just… not here right now. Can I take a message?”

“Who?” Says the caller. 

Jamie opens her mouth to repeat herself, but she never gets the chance, for the phone is abruptly ripped from her hands, and she jumps and twists round to see Mr O, dripping wet with a towel around his waist, wild eyes and a frown etched onto his forehead.

“Who’s this?” He demands into the phone. There’s a pause. “No you have a wrong number.” He hangs up the phone, tosses it to his nightstand beside the bed, and then suddenly he seizes Jamie by the throat, pinning her back against the pillows as her eyes fly wide.

“You don’t answer my phone!” He growls, leaning down over her, his face pressed right up close to hers. 

“Mr O!” She squeaks out, small hands grasping his wrist. His hand is like a vice around her neck and she pulls at it desperately. 

“What if it had been another teacher, and they’d recognised your voice huh? What if someone asked who you were?”

“I just - you’re hurting me!”

He loosens his hold on her, enough that she can gasp in a deep breath and try to gather her thoughts. He’s still staring down at her, like he’s waiting for an answer, and Jamie tries to clear her thoughts enough to find one.

“I probably just would have… said I was your girlfriend… or something…” 

Mr O releases her neck, and sits back on his heels next to her, looking at her oddly. 

The shock of him grabbing her is wearing off, and Jamie feels anger begin to replace it. She frowns, pulling herself back to sit up against the pillows as she rubs at her throat and looks at him. “You hurt me,” she accuses. 

“My girlfriend eh?” He says, ignoring her words.

Jamie looks away from his piercing gaze, shrugging. 

“Is that what you want to be?” He asks, and there’s that intensity in his voice again - in his eyes when she braves another glance into them. “Hm?” He prompts.

“Um,” she falters, unsure how to respond. “It’s… I know it can’t be like that - because - because school and everything. And I wasn’t saying it because of thay, I just meant -“

He stops her rambling with a finger under her chin, making her look at him again. 

“Do you want to be my girlfriend?” He says and -  _ oh.  _ Oh. He was asking - he was really  _ asking her  _ that. Mr O was asking her if she wanted to be -

“Yes!” She blurts out. “Yes I -“

He cuts her off with a fierce kiss, and Jamie melts into him, unable to help smiling against his mouth as he kisses her.

_ His girlfriend.  _

When they break apart Mr O tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, his eyes on her parted lips. His own quirk upwards into a smirk which quickly vanishes. 

“I’m still not sure you’re really sorry for answering my phone.”

Jamie blinks. “I am,” she replies, a bit hoarse, “I didn’t think it would be that big a deal is all…”

“Hmm,” he answers, and narrows his eyes at her. “Maybe I should spank you.”

Jamie’s eyes widen and her stomach does some sort of somersault. 

Surely he was joking?

“Teach you your lesson, hm?”

Was he really expecting an answer? “I…”

“Maybe if that cute little arse of yours is too sore to sit on for the rest of the day you’ll remember that next time you feel like doing something you shouldn’t.”

Jamie stares at him, trying to work out if he was joking or not. His eyes are dark and his face serious. She swallows. “I won’t answer your phone again,” she whispers.

“Glad to hear it,” he says, and moves out of her arms, shuffling up to sit up leaning against the pillows by the headboard, long legs stretched out. He pats his lap. Jamie hesitates, heart pounding. 

“Come on,” he says.

Hesitantly, she shifts on the bed, crawling over to sit on his lap. He chuckles. 

“Not like that love,” he says, and then her turns her round, twisting her onto her front and pulling her down so she’s sprawled face down across him, her hips over his knees, arse raised up, and she scarcely has a moment to breathe before he’s pulled both her arms round behind her back and is pinning them there with one strong hand as his over strokes over her bare behind. 

The material of the towel he has around his hips is rough against her skin as she squirms where he holds her, and she can feel his cock pressed against her hip - half hard again. God - was it  _ normal  _ for boys to be so… ready to go as often as this?!

Jamie’s thoughts are stopped abruptly in their tracks when Mr O lifts his hand from her bottom and brings it down again, sharp and hard, the sound of the smack echoing around the room as Jamie gives a yelp of shock. 

“You ever been spanked before?” He drawls. Red faced and wide-eyed, Jamie shakes her head. 

“Well then maybe this is just what you need.”

“Mr O,” she squeaks out, “I -“ she’s cut off with a gasp when he smacks her again, his hand hitting the soft flesh of her other cheek with a resounding smack.

“Gonna go answering my phone again?”

“No,” Jamie whispers, and he spanks her again. Her arse is stinging already and her face is  _ burning _ . 

“What was that?”

“No!” She repeats, louder. “I’m sorry!”

His hand connects with her arse again, and Jamie gasps and squeezes her eyes shut, wriggling in his hold. He’s harder now, pressing insistently into her hip and Jamie becomes aware of something else his punishment is causing other than horrible humiliation; she’s aroused. Her cunt is burning, and she can feel herself growing wet as he holds her in place and brings his hand down on her behind. She bites her lip to muffle a sound as he hits her again, and buries her red face in the duvet. 

She can still feel the sense memory of him moving inside of her arse, just an hour or two before. She’s sore, and now her cheeks are growing sore too as he spanks her over and over and Mr O was right - Jamie doesn’t think she  _ will  _ be able to sit down for the rest of the day after this.

As if sensing her thoughts, she feels Mr O squeezing her sore cheeks, and then his fingers probing through the crevice of her bum and prodding at her arse. She flinches away from the intrusive touch on instinct, and he chuckles, and his fingers dance lower, sliding along her slit. She hears him give a hiss and feels his cock twitch against her hip. Mr O’s hand moves to her thigh, and he pulls it out, spreading her legs where she lays sprawled across his lap.

His fingers are back on her cunt then, rubbing at her, and Jamie moans and squirms against him as she hears the slick sound of it.

“I think you’re enjoying your punishment a bit too much,” he says, and he sounds amused. Jamie bites her lip, cheeks burning hot.

“I’m sorry,” she says breathlessly.

“Maybe I need to try harder, hm?”

“What do you -“ she cuts off with a gasped squeak when his hand suddenly comes down hard directly onto her cunt. Jamie squirms as the sting reverberates through her, making her contract between her legs, and she desperately presses her thighs back together.

“Ah, ah,” he scolds her, pulling her legs open again. “Be a good girl for me.”

“Mr O,” she pants, “plea -“

He smacks her pussy again, and she shouts, the pain shooting through core. “Still enjoying it huh?”

“No,” Jamie mumbles, tears welling up. She feels his fingers stroke her roughly, two dipping inside of her. 

“Well it  _ feels  _ like you are.”

She knows she’s wet - she can feel it. She doesn’t think she’s  _ ever  _ been this wet…  _ did  _ that mean she was enjoying it? Was she the kind of person who got off on being hit? 

He spanks her again, and the tears spill over as he pulls her off his lap, her body limp like a rag doll as he rolls her onto her back and spreads her thighs. 

His cock glides over her throbbing labia, sliding between her folds, and he ruts his hips into her, letting her feel the blunt head of his cock against her entrance before he lifts his hips and shoves his hand down between her legs instead. She knows it’s coming this time, and braces herself before he spanks her, the sound of his palm hitting her soft, slick bare flesh ringing out sharp in his bedroom as Jamie cries out. More tears are spilling and she feels overwhelmed with sensations and feelings and Mr O rubs at her clit and makes soothing noises to her. 

“Will you be a good girl for me, Jamie?” He’s pressing his cock between her labia again, and he’s got her knees up, nearly pulling her in half.

“I will, I promise,” she pants, as his cock passes over her clit, again and again. She’s so wet, and he’s spreading it across, the wet sound very loud in his quiet bedroom.

“Will you be a good girl for Daddy?” He croons, and the head of his cock is nudging against her entrance now, so big that she’s half afraid he’ll split her open. 

“Daddy?” She blinks at him, confused, as the bulbous head of his cock spreads her open. 

“Tell Daddy how much you like it,” he says, as his cock pushes into her. 

“I l-like it, Daddy,” she whimpers, and her pussy feels spread thin around him. “I…”

“Look at how much you’re taking,” he says, and he pushes it in deeper, “You’re so small, baby. So small, but you’re still taking me in.”

_ Why does he like it when I call him Daddy?  _ She blinks at him blearily, and then she  _ squeals _ , as his hand comes down on her vulva, catching her clit. She clenches around him convulsively, and he grunts, pushes himself in even more, until the curly hair at the base of his cock is against her labia. She’s so  _ full _ of him, and then there’s the sudden shock of his hand descending down on her pussy, and she squeals again.

“Look at you,” he says, breathless. “I see you squirming in class sometimes, and I know you’re thinking about taking your Daddy’s cock inside of you, just like this.” Another slap. “Such a good girl…” 

A small sob catches in her throat with a yelp this time, and Jamie squeezes her eyes shut, embarrassed that she was crying in front of him but unable to seem to make herself stop. It’s not even that it  _ hurts _ that much, not really, she just felt… overwhelmed and confused and she wished he would just give her a moment to catch her breath and get a grip on the sensations he’s inflicting on her body.

“You like this?” He asks hotly, his breath by her neck now, teeth scraping over her throat. Not trusting her voice, she nods mechanically. Mr O hisses, hips pumping into her a bit quicker and harder. “Yeah, fuck,” he curses, “I knew you would. Knew you could take it.” There’s a hint of pride in his voice that sends a little thrill through Jamie, even as she sniffs through more tears. 

“You’re so good for me Jamie,” he murmurs hoarsely as his cock hits her inside, over and over, “such a good little…  _ fuck…” _ she recognises the hitch in his breath and the way his body shudders and jerks a little as he comes inside her. She gives a little gasped moan as he shoves his hips into her a few more times before slumping down with a satisfied grunt, and pulling out of her to roll off her onto his back.

Jamie lays panting beside him, shaking a little as her empty cunt contracts around nothing.

“Did you come?”

She hesitates before nodding. “Yeah,” she utters, and her voice is raspy.

“Good girl,” he says, and gives a deep sigh. “God, you’re incredible,” he groans, sounding utterly satiated, and Jamie feels her stomach give a funny little leap. 

“I am?”

“Oh yeah,” he pants, turning his head to smile at her. He lifts a hand to touch the backs of his fingers to her cheek. “I knew you were something special.”

“Special?” She utters, and sniffs a bit. She feels a wreck - her body is tingling and aching, her inner thighs are sticky and damp, sweat is cooling on her skin and she knows her hair must be a matted mess from his hands. Not to mention the dampness on her cheeks and the way she could just  _ feel _ that her face was red and blotchy from crying. She didn’t feel very special, she just felt… exhausted. And strangely numb.

“So special,” he affirms, and leans up on one elbow to lean over her, cupping her face and running his thumb across her tear-stained cheeks. “And don’t worry about this,” he murmurs. “It’s perfectly normal to get emotional during these kind of things. It was intense yeah?”

“Um,” Jamie sniffs. “Yeah…”

He smiles at her, and leans down to drop a kiss to her red nose. “You did so well. And you learned your lesson good, didn’t you?”

Jamie blinks up at him, a little dazed. “Yes...”

“Yes…?”

She swallows, stomach tying itself in a funny sort of knot that she didn’t quite understand. “Yes daddy,” she whispers. Mr O looks pleased, leaning down to kiss her mouth before he pats her on the hip and heaves himself out of bed. 

“Go clean up. I’ll make us some breakfast.”

Jamie nods, robotically pulling herself up out of bed too, stumbling a bit as she walks into his en-suit bathroom on numb legs. 

—

She feels more together after a shower, and when she wanders out, combing fingers through her damp hair, she finds a tshirt and sweat pants of Mr O’s laid out on the bed for her. She hesitates, glancing at her own bag on the floor in the corner, before deciding he might be upset if she didn’t wear them, and gets out just some clean underwear from her things before pulling his clothes on. 

The smell of bacon draws her to the kitchen when she’s dressed, and she pads out to find Mr O, barefoot in similar sweats to the one’s he’d given her and a tshirt, standing by the stove poking at a sizzling frying pan. 

“There you are,” he throws her a smile as she walks in. “Want to make the teas? Or coffee if you prefer.”

Jamie shakes her head. “Tea’s fine,” she says quietly as she moves over to the kettle to do so. It takes a bit of poking around in his cupboards to find everything, and Mr O chats to her about this and that as she does so. 

“You’re quiet,” he comments as she stirs the teabags in the mugs. 

Jamie frowns, eyes fixed on her task. “Am I? I don’t think I am. Just listening is all. Maybe a bit tired.”

He gives a chuckle. “Wore you out, hm?” He touches her hip as he moves past her to grab a plate, his hot breath brushing over her damp hair, and Jamie gives a shiver. 

“I guess.”

“Well, we don’t have to do anything today. You wanna find something on Netflix for us to watch together? Anything you want.”

Jamie brightens a bit at that. “Can I show you that show I’ve been on about? The one with the time travel? I’m sure you’d like it.”

“Sure,” he says easily, piling bacon and eggs onto two plates. “Go get it ready, I’ll bring the breakfasts in.”

The show is one of Jamie’s favourites, and it gives her a sense of normalcy… comfort, maybe, to settle down on the sofa with Mr O and watch it. Something familiar and warm where everything felt so new and alien. 

He gets into it easily, asking questions and making observations, and by late afternoon he’s shouting at the villain on the screen for using “the most obvious plan”. 

“He could so easily have got away with that! Why didn’t he look for another way round!? He’s smarter than her.”

Jamie snorts. “He  _ thinks _ he is - but she always beats him in the end.”

“Because he does stupidly obvious things like that! It’s infuriating.”

“You’re supposed to be rooting for the good guys,” she giggles, elbowing him. He snorts, waving a hand. 

“They’re boring.”

Jamie sticks out her tongue. “Next episode?” She says.

Mr O looks at his phone and gives a sigh. “We should probably get dinner started.”

“Is it that late already?” Jamie asks, looking at her own in surprise. 

“Not that late but it’ll take a while to cook,” he tells her as he lifts her legs from his lap and heaves himself off the sofa. 

Jamie tilts her head at him. “What are you making?”

“You’ll see,” he smiles at her. “Wanna help?”

“Sure!”

\--

“My mum used to make this,” Mr. O says a short while later as he carefully dices up a strip of bacon. “It was her special dinner.” The apron he’s wearing is dark blue, and he’s got his sleeves rolled up again. 

“What’s the occasion?” Jamie has her own sleeves rolled up, and is very carefully chopping up carrots.

“Isn’t it obvious?” He shoots her a smile, his teeth very white, and her chest seizes up. “You’re here.”

_ I’m in love with him _ , Jamie thinks, and she stares down at the carrot as she cuts it in half, then starts to cut it down smaller. The thought isn’t giving her as much comfort as she’d think it would - not much comfort, not much excitement, just a sort of shock.  _ I think being in love would feel different. _

“But it’ll be nice to have a home cooked meal,” he tells her, and then he leans over, inspecting her chopping. “You’re good at that,” he says, and she smiles, lighting up from the praise.

“My parents have all of us helping to cook,” she says, as she scrapes the carrots into the bowl, then starts on the next one. “Since there’s so many of us.”

“What’s your favorite thing to cook, then?” He’s got the bacon in the little bowl as well, and the whole kitchen smells of it. He seared it, before starting to chop it.

“I’m not sure,” she says. “I’ve never done something with so many steps before. My parents always like to do stuff that’s more… straightforward. Cottage pie and bolognese and stuff like that.”

Mr. O is beginning to chop up the big chunk of beef, the knife moving hypnotically through the meat. Jamie keeps her eyes on the carrots, to keep from accidentally getting her own fingers. 

“I like the more… elaborate dishes,” he says. She can smell the raw meat, mixing in with the scent of the carrots, the bacon. The kitchen is warm, and she’s beginning to feel closed in. “Each step for a definite purpose.” 

“Kinda like chemistry,” she says thoughtfully.

“Exactly,” he says, and when she looks up at him, his whole face is lit up as if from within. He’s  _ beaming _ at her, and her whole face is stretching out to grin back at him. “I’ve been looking forward to cooking with you,” he adds, and there’s something shy about his expression that’s making her  _ distinctly _ uncomfortable. 

“Yeah?” She looks down at the food she’s chopped up, and she puts the knife down. He lets him take her hand, and she blushes harder as he kisses the back of her hand, then her palm.  _ I’ll have to wash my hands again, _ she thinks dazedly, and then he’s kissing the tip of each finger, and the inside of her wrist. It’s making warmth kindle in her belly - something like arousal, but sweeter.

Deeper. 

“I’m trusting you,” he says, and he’s keeping the eye contact; deep, intense eye contact. She feels like she might drown in his eyes. It’s almost like she’s floating. “Do you trust me too, Jamie?”

She nods, dazed. “I trust you,” she murmurs, and her voice sounds strange in her own ears.

He kisses the top of her head, lets go of her hand. “We should go play in the snow,” he says, and it ruffles her hair like she’s his kid sister. “When we’re done dinner. It’s gonna take a while to simmer.”

“Aren’t you… aren’t  _ we _ a little old for that?” She reaches for the little pile of mushrooms, picks one up and begins to chop it. 

“You’re never too old to play in the snow,” he says, and he sounds like he’s scolding her. “And it’s late enough in the day that nobody is going to notice us,” he adds, and she flushes. 

“Oh,” she says, carefully dicing up a mushroom, then another one. 

“The recipe calls for vegetable oil,” Mr. O says, dropping a big pat of butter into the pan, “but if you want the proper flavor, you need to use  _ butter _ .” He’s got a bottle of wine next to him as well, and he hands it to her. “Can you open that? Corkscrew is in the drawer.”

“After last night, I don’t know if I ever want to  _ look _ at any more wine, let alone drink it,” Jamie says, wrinkling her nose. She gets the corkscrew anyway, and dutifully begins to screw it in. 

Her dad has one of those wine openers that looks like a little man with his arms raised up, and she’s inexplicably hit with a wave of homesickness.  _ Do my parents wonder what I’m doing? _

“We won’t be drinking this,” he tells her, and then he makes an amused noise, as she presses the point of the corkscrew into the cork. “For someone who hasn’t drunk before, you seem to have no trouble with opening it.”

“It’s fairly straightforward,” she says defensively, and the bottle gives a littles  _ pop  _ as she gets the cork out. “But am I going to have to drink again tonight? I feel like last night was enough of a learning experience. And I don’t think I like wine.” 

“You don’t have to drink any more wine,” he assures her, and he indicates the measuring cup by her elbow. “Pour us out two cups, please.” 

“Oh,” she says, feeling foolish. “It’s for cooking.”

“I don’t drink when I cook,” he tells her, serious as anything. “I know there’s a million and a half jokes about half the wine being for the sauce and half the wine being to make the chef sauced, but that’s a good way to lose a finger or get a serious burn.”

“Are there?” She hasn’t heard them. Then again, her parents don’t cook with alcohol that often, apart from her dad’s beer bread.

“Oh yeah,” he says, and then he’s tossing he’s tossing the garlic and the onion in the pan. They sizzle, and their scent blends in the with the scent of the butter and the bacon. It’s enough to make her mouth water. “Anyway,” he adds, “I won’t be drinking when I’m going to be driving. Be a love and hand us the carrots?”

“Driving?” She hands him the carrots. 

“There’s an excellent, out of the way spot,” he tells her, and he smiles at her, suddenly bashful. “I’ve thought about taking you before,” he says, and her chest suddenly feels too small for the way her heart is expanding. 

“Oh,” she says, and she looks down at her hands. “Thank you?”

She isn’t sure if that’s the right response, but he’s smiling at her again, and he looks so at home, with his spatula and his apron, that she wants this moment to never end. 

“How about we make a little bet,” he says, moving the vegetables about in the pan. 

“What kind of bet?” She goes back to chopping up the mushrooms, carefully, putting them in the little bowl he left for her. There seem to be no end of little bowls in his kitchen - does he do a lot of cooking? 

“Whoever wins the snowball fight has to do whatever the other one says,” he suggests, and there’s a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“ _ Whatever? _ ” She tries to imagine what she would do, if she could get him to anything she says. Make him...give her an A? Hold her hand in public? Tell her he loves her?

The last one makes her flush, and she brings the knife down with a more definite  _ thunk. _

“Within reason,” he amends. “Can’t go too crazy, after all.”

“Spoilsport,” she teases, starting on the next mushroom. They’re very dry, and she has to be careful as she cleans the knife. 

“I’m going to win,” he says, smug as anything, “so you’ll want to be careful with just how you insult me.”

“You are not,” she counters, and now she’s smiling. She always has loved a competition. 

“I will,” he assures her, “and don’t worry,” he adds. “I’ll be gentle.” The look he shoots her makes a heat kindle up deep in the depths of her belly, and she bites her lip, and tries to concentrate on chopping the mushrooms. 

She _ is  _ going to win this snowball fight. And she will… figure out what she wants, once she does. 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another choking warning for this one folks :P Also it's a little shorter than normal, but we figure you'd rather have a chapter quicker than have to keep waiting :)

The park he takes her to is very quiet, and the snow is deep. It's almost like being on another planet, or going back in time to some ice age, before humans. They end up in a field surrounded by trees, beyond the streetlights, and the dimness adds to the dreamlike atmosphere. 

"I'll have you know I take no prisoners," he warns her. "I have _no_ mercy." 

She smiles at him, and it probably looks grim in the low light. "Neither do I," she tells him. 

"I'll count off," he says. "Like a proper duel." 

She nods. 

"Back to back," he says, as the two of them walk through the thick snow. The cold wetness is already soaking into her feet, and she's very resolutely ignoring it. 

"Right," she says. 

"One." He takes a step, and she takes a step. "Two. Three. Four." Another three steps.

Jamie stops taking steps, and she bends down, scooping up a handful of snow. She isn't wearing any gloves, and the cold is like an electric shock. 

"Five. Six. Seven." She packs the snowball carefully. "Eight. Nine. Ten."

She gives a shout of delight, turning around, and she _throws_. 

-*-

Hardly daring to breathe for fear of being discovered, Jamie crouches behind the bush she’d picked as cover, listening to the soft crunch of footsteps moving through the snow.

“Ja-mie,” comes his voice in a sing song tone. “I know you’re here.”

Stealing herself, Jamie carefully presses together the snow in her hands, fashioning a hard ball. Her hands are _freezing_ , clothes are damp, hair is clinging to her face in wet strands where he’d gotten her right in the side of the face with a particularly large snowball, and she really wishes she had gloves, but there is no way she’s losing this over cold hands. 

The footsteps crunch closer. “I will find you!” He calls out. “Wherever you are…”

 _Not if I find you first,_ Jamie thinks, and then a shadow casts over her, Mr O steps past the bush she’s crouched behind, and Jamie pounces. 

He goes down with an alarmed “oof!” Which turns to a yell as Jamie pins him to the floor and yanks out the top of his coat, stuffing her snowball right down the back of his top. 

“Fuck!” He all but squeaks, thrashing like crazy beneath her. “Shit, _shit_ that’s cold!”

Giggling wildly, Jamie scoops up another handful of snow as he twists round beneath her, and straddles his hips firmly to pin him in place, shoving it right into his face. 

“Give up?” She grins as she wrestles with him. She grabs another handful of the stuff and yanks out his jumper, holding it there above him threateningly. 

“I surrender, I surrender!” Mr O laughs. “Christ, you’re vicious!”

Jamie grins as she lets him sit up to shake out his jumper, trying to get all the cold snow out from his back. He rubs at his face, snow clinging to his eyelashes and beard, and on a whim, Jamie leans in and presses a kiss to his cold lips. 

“Told you I’d win,” she grins when she pulls away. 

“I underestimated you,” he grumbles. Then his eyes flicker down over her and he takes her frozen hands in his own. “You’re freezing,” he observes. 

“A little,” she admits. 

Mr O dislodges her from his lap and climbs to his feet, pulling her up after him. “Come on, lets get you home and warmed up.”

He wraps his arm around her shoulders as they walk to his car - and it’s nice. It’s fairly dark in the park now, so anyone who glances their way would only be able to see two figures, which she supposes is why he’s being a bit more carefree with being close to her. It’s nice. She likes it. She wishes it could be like this all the time. That they could walk through a public park with his arm tucked around her shoulders and nobody would spare them a second glance. 

By the time she clambers into his car she’s cooled down from all the running about she did, and Jamie is starting to realise how frozen she really is. She’s only in a thin pair of leggings, trainers which have gotten soaked through, and a jumper thrown over Mr O’s tshirt then her thin coat which wasn’t even really waterproof. She hadn’t exactly packed for being out in sub-zero temperatures. 

“It’ll warm up in a minute,” he tells her as he turns the heating on full and pulls the car out of the car park. 

Jamie nods, curling her legs up, bringing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms round herself, teeth chattering. 

“So,” he says after a minute or two, and shoots her a wry smile as he speeds down the road. “Should I be worried?”

Distracted by the cold, Jamie blinks at him. “Huh?”

“You won,” he reminds her. “You get to ask for whatever you want, and I have to do it.”

“Oh. Yeah.” She scrunches her face up. “Dunno… haven’t thought of anything yet.”

Mr O raises an eyebrow like he’s surprised. “Really? I know exactly what I was going to get you to do if _I’d_ won.”

“Yeah?” Jamie peeks round at him curiously. “What?”

Mr O spares her a glance before looking back at the road, the corners of his lips curled up into a smirk. “Guess you’ll never know.”

Jamie’s body gives a shiver which has nothing to do with the cold. 

-*-

“So I figured out what I’m going to ask for,” Jamie tells Mr. O, when the two of them are sitting together on his couch. She’s still shivering, the warm air making her frozen fingers ache. She’s wrapped in a blanket, and she isn’t wearing any trousers or her jumper. The blanket is very soft against her bare legs, and she tries not to think of how foolish she looks, in just her knickers and her t-shirt. 

“Did you, now?” He takes her hands in his own, rubbing them carefully. “Next time we need to remember to bring your mittens.” 

_Next time_ , some part of her sings out. _He wants there to be a next time!_

"I want you to tell me about yourself," Jamie says, although that isn't what she had planned. She had thought about it in the car back, as her teeth chattered and the heat from the vents made her fingers burn.

"You know about me already," he says dismissively, "and anyway, that's not how it works.'

She frowns. "You said I could have whatever I wanted, if I won. That you were mine to command."

"Yeah. To command me." He pulls her into his lap, and she's still chilled and tired enough that she lets him. The room smells like the cooking stew - bacon, garlic, red wine. Her mouth is watering. 

"I… command you to tell me about yourself," Jamie tries, because this suddenly feels very important. 

"That's not doing it right," he complains. "You should make me kiss your feet or eat you out, or you could choke me…"

"Why would I choke you?" She remembers the feel of his hand around her throat, and she shivers. 

“So you can have the control over me.” He takes her hand, pressing it against his throat, and he uses his hand over her own to make her squeeze. 

“I don’t…,” she starts to say, and she trails off when she sees the look in his eyes. There’s something faintly unsettling about it. His pulse is hammering under her fingers. She’s shaking, and she doesn’t know if it’s from the cold or from whatever emotion is wriggling through her like moths in a jar. 

“Can you feel the power?” HIs voice vibrates against her palm, and she lets him use her hand to squeeze. “You have my life in your hands.”

“I don’t want to have your life in my hands,” Jamie whispers, and she squeezes him a little harder. His breath wheezes out of her, and she isn’t sure why her stomach does a weird little… _swoop_.

“Everyone wants that,’ he says, and then his hand is dropping, but she’s still holding his throat. Her fingers are pressed into the hollow of his jaw, and she squeezes again, a little harder this time. 

“I don’t,” she says quietly. 

“You do,” he says. “Everyone does. Everyone wants to just _take_ what they want, you’re just too young to get in touch with that part of yourself.” HIs voice is making her palm vibrate, up her wrist, and she shivers, and squeezes him again, a little harder. 

The way he wheezes makes her stomach twist up in ways that she’s not sure she understands, but she groans, her hips rocking forward.

“Good girl,” he says, his voice rough. “I’m just your loyal slave boy, Jamie, I’ll do anything for you. Please…” 

She lets go of his throat, and he takes in a deep, gasping breath. His cock twitches against her thigh, and then his hand is over hers again, forcing her to squeeze again, and she does, her fingers digging in. 

“Careful,” he says, and there’s a rasp to his voice that makes her insides clench up like a fist. She clutches at his shirt with the other hand, and then the blanket is falling off of her back, and she’s keenly aware of her bare back, of her bra. 

“You want to be my slave?” She let him guide her fingers, to squeeze a little harder. She’s digging the tips into the soft spot under his ear now, and she’s a little afraid of bruising him. 

“I’ll do anything for you,” he repeats. “I’m devoted to you, Jamie, I’d die for you, I’d kill for you…” His voice is making her hand vibrate, and his hips are grinding forward. “You’re so _beautiful_ , Jamie, I’m the luckiest man in the world, I’m a worm beneath your feet…”

_Am I supposed to be getting anything out of this?_ Jamie wonders, as she watches his face. She likes the way his voice gets a little more raspy, and she gives another experimental squeeze. 

“Tell me I’m pretty,” she tells him, and he moans again, a little louder.

“You’re pretty,” he says. “You’re beautiful. Gorgeous. Most beautiful girl I’ve ever known…” 

It makes her stomach twist up. “Do you mean it?” She lets go of his throat, and he takes another deep, gasping breath.

He makes eye contact with her, and she could drown in his eyes. “Would I lie to you,” he says, and he sounds so _sad_ that she grabs his throat again, holds it in her hand. She _squeezes_ : in a way that’s probably not safe, and he gasps.

She kisses him, not sure why she’s doing it, but it feels like the right thing to do, and she’s still squeezing. _I could kill him_ , she thinks, and that’s a terrifying thought that makes her fingers cramp up. _I could kill him like this, and he trusts me, doesn’t he?_

He shudders and groans against her, and she lets go of his throat, quickly. His hips are jerking, and she clutches at his shoulders as he moans into her ear. Then he’s sagging back against the couch, his eyes wide and his chest heaving.

“That… doesn’t normally happen,” he rasps.

“What doesn’t normally happen?” She blinks down at him. She’s trembling - she kind of wants to cry, she kind of wants to come. She’s not sure what it is that she’s feeling, but it seems to be surging through her, making her hands shake and her heart beat loudly in her ears. 

“I just came in my pants,” he says, and he laughs, looking even more self conscious. “You must think I’m pathetic.”

“No,” she says, because that’s not really a… thing that she considers. She’s heard jokes about it, but her head is swimming from the stimulation, from the shock of the cold compared to the warmth inside. She needs… she isn't’ sure what she needs.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he says, his tone earnest, and then he’s pushing her flat on the couch, the arm of it pressing into her back.

_I feel like I did this last night_ , she thinks distantly as he pushes the cups of her bra up and over her breasts, laving at them with his tongue. The elastic is digging into her chest, and his mouth is hot and wet against her nipples. She moans, her finger tangling in his hair, and he moans back.

“I live to serve you,” he murmurs into her skin, kissing between her breasts, rubbing his rough face against it. “You’re the center of my universe, Jamie.”

“I… thank you,” she mumbles, because how do you even _respond_ to that? She curves her hand around the back of his head, holding the delicate shape of his skull in her palm, his scalp hot under her skin, his hair ticklish against the backs of her hand. 

He kisses down her body, and she’s almost expecting him to hook his fingers into the waistband of her knickers, pulling them down and off her legs. He’s kissing along her inner thigh, and his mouth is hot and wet, his stubble rough.

She sighs, letting her mouth fall open as her legs drift wider apart. “Look at you,” he murmurs, and then he’s staring at her cunt with wide, amazed eyes. “Just _look_ at you, you’re… I can’t believe how lucky I am.” 

She shivers, and then she whimpers, as he begins to lap at her clit. She’s still chilly, and she can’t seem to stop shivering. The cold has sunk into her bones, and her teeth can’t seem to stop chattering now, as he sucks on her clit, and she’s not sure _why_ she’s trembling so hard. 

She lets herself drown in the feeling of his mouth, the pleasure building and building. She opens her eyes at one point, looks down between her breasts, over the soft puppy fat of her belly, and she sees the darkness of his hair against the paleness of her thighs, sees his eyes glittering up at her. 

His lips wrap around her clit, and he _sucks_ , sucks hard enough that her whole body seems to be centered around his mouth, as his tongue laps at her, and then there are fingers inside of her, and she sobs like her heart is breaking. She digs her fingers into his hair, her breath gasping in her ears - she’s wheezing like he was, and then there’s the memory of his throat under his hand, and she doesn’t know how she feels about it, except that it’s making the warmth in her gut flare higher and tighter, fill her up like water in a glass. 

His fingers are curving, pressing down on… something inside of her, and it feels a little bit like she needs to pee, she’s wants to tell him to stop, but that would involve _moving_ , and if he keeps doing whatever it is he’s doing she might die, if he stops doing what he’s doing she’ll _definitely_ die, and her face is wet with what must be tears, her teeth are chattering, and then he does… something, and she comes. 

She comes in a way she’s never come before, because there’s a feeling of a... rush, a gushing relief of pleasure, and he makes a surprised noise, and then he’s _moaning_ , and he comes up to look at her face, and something is dripping down his chin.

“Well,” he says, and his voice is almost a growl. “ _Wow_.”

“What… I don’t… I’ve never…” Her legs are still shaking. She licks her lips, and then he’s kissing her, his mouth slick, and it tastes like her. 

“Didn’t know you were a squirter,” he says, and then it’s another deep, wet kiss, his tongue swiping across her teeth, along her own tongue. When he pulls back, both of their faces are sticky, salty. 

“I didn’t either,” she says.

“I didn’t know I could still jizz in my pants either,” he counters, and he looks faintly sheepish. He takes her hand in his own, and he kisses the back of it. His fingers are still wrinkled from being inside of her, which sends a little jolt of heat inside of her. "That was your fault, y'know."

"Sorry," she says, and he's nuzzling into her temple, kissing it. She shivers, and clutches at his shirt. 

"You're amazing, Jamie," he murmurs. "If I'm not careful, I may just fall in love with you."

She goes hot all over, and her heart is suddenly beating double time. She presses her face into his shoulder, to hide her deep red cheeks, and she wishes she would stop shaking. 

There is a loud _beep_ , and they both jump. He stands up awkwardly, disentangling her fingers, and he groans. “I need to give it a stir,” he says, and he shoots her a smile. “How about you go take a shower to warm up, I’ll join you in a moment.”

She nods, and she’s still shaking.


End file.
